


Little Secrets

by FeelsForBreakfast



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, im not very hardcore, some high school typical homophobia, some pretty serious drug and alcohol use but i mean, trashy rich boy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeelsForBreakfast/pseuds/FeelsForBreakfast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Harry is an idiot with a murky past and a crush, Zayn is a dancer who makes bad choices, Louis is a flawless queen bee with a secret, Niall has a crush on an impossible girl, and Liam falls for a stupid boy. </p><p>A little bit skins, a little bit gossip girl, and a whole lot of kissing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Little Secrets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3344654) by [moonlightdirection](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlightdirection/pseuds/moonlightdirection)



> It's also on my tumblr http://infinitylourry.tumblr.com/post/40874555102/little-secrets-chapter-1 it might be easier to read on there idk whatever makes you happy bro enjoy

Chapter 1

Zayn’s doing that broody thing he likes to do, a cigarette hanging lazily from his fingers as he props his cream colored high tops against the tree trunk next to where Harry’s sitting, his nose deep in a dog eared Vonnegut novel.

“I’m bored.” He takes a quick drag, vaguely aware of some freshman girls giving them stares that walk the line between disgusted and hungry. “Harry quit fucking reading and entertain me.”

Harry looks up, giving Zayn a glare from underneath his immaculate curly fringe. “Go get Grimmy to entertain you. Or Perrie. Someone, anyone, christ you’re such a child.” 

Zayn just gives him a lazy half grin, the kind only Harry gets to see, where his gaze goes soft for a moment, tiny creases appearing at the sides of his eyes. Harry sighs, giving him a reluctant smile and reaching a hand out so it’s resting on Zayn’s stomach, tucking itself underneath the fold of his leather jacket. 

Zayn wiggles under the touch, admiring the way the autumn sunlight brings out the carmel highlights in Harry’s hair. He’s quite pretty really, emerald pea coat done up all the way, tight jeans making his legs look exceptionally long, and Zayn knows just how good they look together, like something out of a magazine.

Harry, who’s returned to his book, glances upward to meet Zayn’s eyes. “You’re looking at me funny again.”

Zayn brings his cigarette to his lips before answering, aware of how Harry’s eyes always linger when he does, a tiny pink flush creeping across his cheeks. “Want to get fantastically drunk and screw each other?”

Harry shakes out his hair, turning the page and drumming his fingers across Zayn’s flat stomach, lean like the rest of his body. “I could be convinced.”

“Good.” Zayn lets his smile fade, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of Harry’s fingers. He thinks that maybe what they have isn’t exactly normal, maybe not healthy even, but he’s fairly sure he couldn’t give it up if he wanted to. Harry’s his anchor, the only thing that keeps him tethered to the Earth when he feels like he's going to spin away. 

A sharp voice breaks through the peaceful bubble they’ve created. “You aren’t supposed to smoke this close to the building.”

Zayn looks up, his eyes falling on Louis Tomlinson, towering above him in all his tanned, immaculately styled glory. He can see Eleanor behind him with a bitchface to match her boyfriend’s, clutching her expensive handbag to her chest like she’s afraid Zayn and Harry are going to jump up and steal it.

Before Zayn can form some kind of witty retort, Harry’s speaking up, voice lazy and little bit protective. Harry has a policy where no one is allowed to be a dick to Zayn except Harry himself. “Louis, I appreciate your concern, but could you please spoil someone’s fun somewhere else on campus and leave darling Zayn alone?”

“Well I wouldn’t have to spoil your fun,” He puts the last three words in sarcastic finger quotes. “If you weren’t breaking the rules. The sign says twenty feet, you can’t be any further than ten.” He crosses his arms over his chest, tapping the toe of his red toms on the ground. 

“Louis I’m sorry this is bothering you, I really am. I just also don’t care.” Harry says, a fake smile alighting on his face. “Fuck off.”

Louis takes out his phone, holding it up and throwing out his hip, the image of defiance. “If I send a picture to the dean, you’ll get suspended.”

Zayn lets out a long groan, quickly tiring of the whole conversation. “My parents donated half the library, they aren’t going to suspend me.”

Louis looks especially miffed at that, lip curling into a sneer as he shoves his phone angrily back into his pocket. “Well it looks like your parents are good for something, god knows they haven’t raised you.”

It really shouldn’t hurt, because Zayn knows its true just as much as anyone else, but it still causes his heart to hop up into his throat. He opens his mouth to brush it off like he always does, because he’s perfectly fine the way he is, parents or not. At which point he notices that Harry has leapt up from his spot by the tree, bringing his arm back and punching Louis straight in the nose.

He can hear the crack, Louis’ cry of anger and disbelief as he grabs at his nose, blood dripping through his fingers. “You fucking hit me!”

Zayn stubs his cigarette out on the ground, scrambling to his feet to stand behind Harry, who looks a bit wild, coat mussed, curls flying every which way. “Well next time, don’t talk to him like that.”

“There was no reason to punch me you twat, you and your fucking boyfriend were breaking the rules in the fucking first place.” It would almost be funny if his anger wasn’t pointed so directly at them, the way he’s trying to keep the blood streaming from his nose off of his cashmere scarf while simultaneously berating them.

“1. You’re a twat. 2. You’re literally the biggest twat I’ve ever met and 3. He isn’t my boyfriend.” Harry seems to be coming down from his adrenaline high and Zayn resists the urge to take his hand, to pull him back to the ground like Harry sometimes needs.

Louis looks almost beyond rage, giving up trying to stem the blood coming from his nose as he grabs Eleanor’s hand. She looks fairly alarmed, staring down at his bloodied fingers like she’s afraid they’re going to contaminate her. “Well everyone knows you two’ve done it, fucking slags the both of you.”

Harry just smiles at him, that humorless smile that Zayn recognizes as just a little bit dangerous. “Well we don’t really hide it, do we? Not like you.”

Louis pauses, squinting his Harry’s direction. “What the fuck are you on about?”

Harry winks, grin turning filthy. “Your little girlfriend isn’t fooling anyone, everybody knows your dirty little secret.”

“I hope you get expelled.” Louis snaps in reply, turning on his heel and dragging a very flustered Eleanor to what Zayn has to guess is the general direction of the dean’s office.

xx

It’s two hours later when they finally get out of the dean’s with a month’s worth of detention, Zayn for smoking on school grounds and Harry for the obvious punching offense. 

They’re walking over to fourth period, about an hour late, but with tardy passes for once. Harry’s taken the lead, mouth set in a firm line as they make their way across the green.

“You really didn’t have to do that, you know.” Zayn says, circling his fingers around Harry’s wrist, jumping ahead a little bit so they’re walking in step. “I mean I appreciate it, but you didn’t have to.”

Harry gives him a wan little smile, sliding so they’re holding hands for real, fingers threaded between each other, his knuckles clean but a bit raw from the punch. “I know. But Louis Tomlinson is a prat, and I enjoy punching prats in the face.”

That earns him Zayn’s famous half smile. “I know. I’m trying to say thankyou.”

Harry knocks him a bit with his shoulder, a certain fondness coming to his eyes. “I know. You’re very welcome, though I really did enjoy punching him.”

“You just have a weakness for pretty boys.”

Harry barks out a laugh, shifting his messenger back up higher on his shoulder. “A little bit. I still can’t decide if I want to punch him, fuck him, or steal his clothes.” 

“Well, you’ve already got one, go for two out of three.”

Harry looks ponderous for a moment. “Think I should?”

Zayn shrugs, wiggling his eyebrows a bit. “Could be fun.”

“You’ve got the best ideas, baby.” He leans over, planting a sloppy kiss on Zayn’s cheek.

“You’re disgusting, get your lips off of me.” Zayn deadpans, wiping his cheek in a highly exaggerated movement.

Harry snorts. “Well that’s the first time I’ve heard that come out of your mouth.”

“It certainly is.” His eyes find the ground for a moment, a sudden burst of shyness coming over him. “But really, thanks Haz.”

Harry gives Zayn’s hand a squeeze, shooting him a bright smile. “You know I’d do it again.”

Zayn nods, squeezing back. “I know.”

xx

It’s not that Louis is actively trying not to do his math, its just that his nose hurts like a bitch and he can’t get that stupid curly haired asshole out of his mind. Eleanor is sitting across from the table, sipping whatever stupid fruity latte smoothie thing she’s ordered this time, phone in hand, abandoned book in her lap.

“Who the fuck does he think he is?” Louis prompts for what he knows is about the third time since they’ve gotten here. “Honestly, like I tell him and his stupid boyfriend to follow the rules and he punches me. Me!”

Eleanor nods, typing out a message on her new iphone, the sparkling case sending shimmering reflections across the table. “You should sue.”

“I should!” He slaps the table with a hand. “One month of detention is NOTHING. He practically broke my nose!”

“Well I mean, he didn’t actually break it.” Eleanor points out rather unhelpfully. “The doctor said you got lucky.”

“Well,” Begins Louis in a scathing tone. “It’s heavily bruised and swollen and I look awful.”

“You look fine, baby. It’ll fade soon.” She assures him, looking up from her text to lay a hand over his, giving him a smile.

Louis nods, taking her hand in his, squeezing with perhaps unwarranted pressure. “I still fucking hate him. I fucking hate Harry fucking Styles.”

xx

They’re sitting in Niall’s basement waiting for Perrie and the girls to come with weed, passing around the two beers they’ve scrounged out of his nearly empty minifridge. Niall has the nicest basement out of all them, which is really saying something. It’s sprawling and lavish, with creamy leather couches and a home theatre in one corner.

“So you really punched him?” Prompts Niall, who’s laying spread eagle on his carpeting. 

Harry nods, taking a lazy swig, a wicked grin spilling across his face. He’s positioned himself on one of Niall’s plush couches, his feet in Zayn’s lap, back pressed to Nick’s chest. “Straight in the nose. Didn’t break it apparently, though I swear to god I heard a crack.”

“It’d be a shame if you broke his face.” Grimmy comments, swiping the beer from Harry’s hand. “Wish he’d stop with the straight edge girlfriend bullshit so I could get myself a snog in.”

Zayn’s drawls his position in the corner. “Harry’s already got dibs on that, haven’t you Haz?”

“Lets just say I wouldn’t be opposed to ripping his clothes off.” Harry admits, a tiny pink flush crawling across his cheeks. He’s one of the most sexually deviant people Zayn knows, and yet he always seems to have a blush on his face. Zayn wonders sometimes if he does it on purpose, just because he knows it makes him look adorable.

“Well if you get dibs on him I want his girlfriend.” Niall adds. “She is fit as fuck. Seems pretty cool too, despite the fact that her boyfriend likes boys.”

Harry laughs, earning a displeased glare from Nick as he almost spills his beer. “Nialler have you got yourself a crush?”

Niall shoots him a disgruntled look. “It’s not a crush! I just want to show her a good time, god knows she can’t be getting any.”

A feminine voice emerges from the stairway, Perrie, Cher, and Rebecca emerging in a tight knit cluster. 

“Don’t be unkind.” It’s Perrie, shooting Niall a look. “Maybe she’s waiting until marriage.” She pulls a face to reveal she’s joking, breaking into a laugh. 

Niall laughs, adopting a truly filthy grin. “Not for long.”

Rebecca cuts in, a lone voice of reason. She’s always been the responsible one, and if Zayn’s honest, he really has no clue why she even hangs out with them other than maybe because she knows they’d drive themselves into the ground without her. “Don’t be mean. We all thought Harry was straight for a long time.”

Cher pats her condescendingly on the head, moving for the free couch and flopping down unceremoniously upon it. “Nobody thought that but you honey.”

Harry nods. “It’s true.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes, moving to sit on the floor next to Niall, tugging a hand through his hair. “Lets watch something.”

Zayn looks up at the ceiling, running his eyes over the tiny crack that winds across the plaster. He likes his friends, really he does, but there’s a big part of him that likes it better when he’s alone. There’s no one to impress that way, no one to ask why he’s so quiet, no one to have to convince he’s okay.

He feels the soft pressure of Perrie’s body press against his as she moves Harry’s feet out of the way, sliding between his legs and resting against his chest. She turns her head and gives him a small smile, blue eyes warm. “Hey.”

He takes her dainty hands, holding them in his larger ones. It’s not that he and Perrie are a thing per se, they aren’t close to exclusive and they certainly don’t go on dates, but it’s nice sometimes to have a person to hold when you’re feeling a little bit like you need someone. “Hey.”

She cocks her head, eyebrows knitting together. “You alright?”

He nods, trying his best to give her a smile. He likes Perrie, she’s sweet and soft and everything he could ever want in a girl. They’re perfect for each other in theory, both pretty, a little bit screwed up, with a shared talent for singing and dancing until everything’s alright. She’s the one who introduced him to Neon Indian all those years ago, and he showed her M83 back when no one knew who they were. 

Except in real life, they’re never really going to be enough for each other. She’s a little shy and he needs someone to pull him out of his shell, and there isn’t really ever going to be enough of Zayn for her to take when she needs it. But it works, in it’s own way, at least for now.

But it’s these moments, when she looks at him, really looks at him and asks if he’s alright and he really doesn’t know what to say, that make him realize that he’s teetering just a little bit close to the edge. 

But he’s not ready to fall yet, so he kisses her quickly on the mouth and tries his best at a smile. “I’m just fine.”

He’s not, but that’s becoming normal.

xx

It’s not that Zayn doesn’t want Harry to go the bonfire, it’s just that Zayn doesn’t want to go and he doesn’t want to sit on his bed alone while everyone else gets smashed. Harry hasn’t seemed to have noticed yet and is trying on shirts, checking the weather forecast, and generally being his normal cheeky self. 

“What do you think?” He asks, holding up two of his blazers and jiggling them around in his hands. 

Zayn shrugs, burrowing deeper in Harry’s bed, pulling the comforter up to his chin. “They’ll both look good.”

Harry shoots him a glare. “You’re absolutely no help. I should have invited Grimmy.”

“See you say things like that and it’s still me in your bed.” Zayn points out, jerking a lazy finger at the jacket in Harry’s left hand. “The navy one.”

Harry throws the inferior jacket at him, sliding the other one over his white tee shirt. “That’s much more helpful.”

“You’re welcome.”

Harry pauses, giving Zayn a long look. “You want to stay home, don’t you?”

Zayn shrugs. Of course he does, he wants to cuddle up to Harry and not let go for the rest of the night, but he isn’t going to make Harry stay home just because he’s being lame. “It’s fine.”

Harry pouts. “I can’t have fun if I know you’re miserable.”

Zayn gives him the best smile he has in him. “Yes you can.”

Harry returns it, shaking out his curls the smallest bit. “I know, but I won’t be happy about it.” He pauses, then climbs onto the bed, his body suddenly hovering over Zayn’s. “You do deserve to be happy too, you know.”

Zayn nods, slipping his hands out of the covers to rest his fingertips on Harry’s jawline. “I’m trying my best.”

Harry gives him a lopsided grin, fondness sparkling in his eyes. “I just wish you didn’t have to try.”

He leans down, pressing his body against Zayn’s and kissing him sweetly on the mouth, soft lips moulding against each other. Kissing Harry is one of Zayn’s favorite things. It’s warm and comforting in a way it never is with anyone else, a reminder stinging on his lips that they’re always going to be there for each other. 

Zayn is the one who pulls back first, sliding his fingers out of Harry’s messy curls and pulling the other boy briefly down to his chest. “Thanks Haz.”

Harry grins against his neck, hugging him tight. “That’s what friends are for.”

xx

Louis is surrounded by a group of eager listeners when Harry spots him on the other side of the bonfire, leaping flames casting his laughing face in flickering orange. While he’s watching him it’s easy for Harry to forget just how awful of a person he is, because he looks so beautiful sometimes, like he’s fragile and special.

Harry sometimes wonders which side of Louis is who he really is, if the Louis Tomlinson he so often sees is what’s within or if it’s just the shell he hides behind. He knows he shouldn’t care so much, but he’s always seen that tiny flash of fear in the other boy’s bright blue eyes that makes him want to know just what Louis’s so scared of. He wants to pull the spark out and make him sweat underneath his neatly pressed collar, make him feel like he doesn’t have to be afraid anymore.

He just wants to touch him, to tug him apart a bit. He’s always so pristine, perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect everything and it drives Harry a bit mental really. He’s a firm believer in the idea that beautiful things are made to be roughed up just a little bit.

He saunters around the circle, blazer already shed somewhere in the sand, the warmth of alcohol and the fire thrumming through his veins like courage. Louis is wearing those suspenders he likes over a blue striped shirt that pulls tight over his petite shoulders, and Harry isn’t sure he’s ever really noticed how small he was before, all dainty angles and soft tan skin.

He can tell the story has just finished up by the way everyone’s attention is slowly drifting away from Louis, a bottle of Jack being passed around the circle. Harry waits until the bottle is nearly to Louis’ lips before running his finger down the length of his spine, causing the older boy to dribble liquid down his chin with a muffled curse.

Harry leans in as Louis turns, their faces ending up incredibly close, noses nearly brushing. A lopsided grins falls on Harry’s face. “Sorry.”

Louis’ entire body seems to tense as he practically tosses the bottle to the next person, pulling back from Harry with a sneer. “What do you want?”

Harry sits down in the sand behind him, placing his chin on his hands. He can see the bruising from the punch, purple and yellow against Louis’ skin and it’s somehow gratifying to know that he’s the one who put it there. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, you did get punched in the face.”

Louis sneers, raising his eyebrows high. “Yeah, by you. And I’m fine thankyou very much.”

Harry holds his hands up in innocence. “Good. I’m just glad I didn’t break it.”

Louis pulls a face, wincing slightly at the movement. “I’m really sure you are.”

Harry shrugs. “I am. You’re too beautiful for me to mess up.”

There’s a pause then, a beat where Louis seems to freeze for a moment, the sparkle of fear growing behind his eyes. “Don’t, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Harry likes the way Louis’ hands shift nervously in his lap like he doesn’t know what to do with them, how his gaze flickers away from Harry’s, like he’s afraid of what he’s going to see in the other boy’s eyes. “Say things like that to me.”

“Why not?”

He regains a little bit of his earlier fire, raising his chin high. “Because I’m not interested in you and whatever games you’re playing.”

“Does that make you feel better?” Harry asks, trailing a finger through the sand and leaning towards Louis.

His eyebrows knit together and Harry can see him grasping for straws as he tries to figure out what Harry is talking about. He especially likes the moment where he gives up and is forced to ask, likes how much it irritates him. “Does what make me feel better?”

“For you to think that I’m playing games with you.” He stands up, running a hand through his curls. “Because it’s easier than acknowledging that I might just want you.” He leans down, whispering low in Louis’ ear before he has the presence of mind to pull back. “Because I do want you.” 

He drops a light kiss on the bridge of Louis’ nose, turning and heading out towards the water before Louis can splutter out a reply, an evil kind of satisfaction thrumming through his veins.

xx

Eleanor isn’t drunk. She isn’t even kindof drunk, and while she’s probably going to call a cab for a very drunk Louis much later, she’ll probably stay at least mostly sober.

She left him by the bonfire a long time ago, choosing to lay on the sand and let the surf tickle her feet. She’s feeling introspective tonight, which is pretty unusual for her, but she likes it, letting the waves and noise of the party fill the silence. 

She knows he’s probably wondering where she is, but there’s a part of her that’s fine without him tonight. He’s been acting off since the punching incident and it’s starting to worry her in little tugs that she can’t quite explain. She knows he isn’t perfect, he’s cruel sometimes, distant, but this is something just a little bit different.

She’s mulling it over, trying to make sense of something she can’t really really put her finger on in the first place when a voice intrudes, breaking her out of her reverie. 

“No boyfriend tonight?”

Her head snaps up, eye falling on a blonde head she knows she should recognize but can’t put a name to. He’s got blue eyes, sharp but friendly, cheeks flushed bright pink, hair peroxide blonde that melts into brown as it reaches his scalp.

She shakes her head, giving him a smile. “He’s over by the bonfire.”

The blonde boy nods, swirling the beer in his hand as he looks out across the horizon then back down at her, an amiable smile splitting across his face. “Can I sit?”

She shrugs, patting the sand next to her. “If you’d like.”

He nods, sitting down and laying back on his elbows, tilting his head back to look up at the sky. “Wish we could see more stars.”

She nods. “That’d be nice.” Then, after a quick pause. “Sorry, what’s your name?”

He looks over at her, eyebrows raised. “You don’t know who I am?”

She shakes her head, a light pink flowering across her cheeks. “You look familiar.”

“I’m Niall.” He shifts, holding out a hand for her. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh you’re Niall? It’s nice to have a face to put to the name.” She smiles, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake, wondering if the extra second he held her fingers was simply her imagination. “I’m Eleanor. Nice to meet you too.”

He laughs, an easy sound that sounds at home in his mouth and she suddenly thinks of Louis. He doesn’t laugh much. He likes making other people laugh, likes being the reason for their smiles, but when he laughs it’s like a gift, something you get to hear only every once in a while on really special occasions. It’s fine, it’s not like she needs to make him laugh, but it’s hard sometimes, feeling like she gives and gives and all he does is take.

“I know who you are, El.” He pauses, grin lazy. “I can call you El can’t I?”

She shrugs, enjoying the distraction from her own inner monologue. “Sure you can, Ni.”

He laughs again, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Clever, that.”

“I try.” She replies, leaning back so she’s sitting like he is, elbows pressed into the sand, head tilted up to see the horizon. 

They sit in silence for a good minute, heels sinking into wet sand. “I think they’ve got a keg going over by the fire.” Niall says finally, craning his neck to see. “Want to head back up?”

Eleanor considers it, surprised to find that she really doesn’t want to move. “Not really. It’s nice over here.”

Niall nods, and she notices the way his face falls almost imperceptibly as he starts to rise to his feet. “I understand. See you some other time then?”

She shakes her head, reaching for his wrist. “No, I mean, I’m not saying you should leave, we can just sit if you’d like?”

He pauses, then sinks back down into the sand. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

And so they sit, side by side in the sand until the tide comes up to catch their feet.

xx 

Zayn is beginning to realize that he shouldn’t have come. There’s a restlessness in his bones, the kind that’s dangerous on him, that makes his fingers itch for pills and pain. He can see Harry’s face over and over in his mind, concern in his eyes as he makes Zayn promise that if he ever feels like this to find him, to please not hurt himself again.

The thing is he’s not really sure he wants help.

He can see Andy by the fire, his greasy hair pushed back from his forehead, whispering something into some pretty brunette’s ear, his hands creeping up her leg. Zayn’s fingers shake a little bit as he heads over, feet sinking into the cool sand until he’s right behind him.

He taps his shoulder, pulling his attention away from the girl. Andy smiles toothily when he sees him, and Zayn can tell Andy knows what he wants. “Hey, faggot. Disco biscuits?”

And Zayn has to try really hard not punch him as he slips some bills into his hand because he’s such an enormous twat and why can’t he just call it ecstasy like every-fucking-body else. But he just gives Andy a thin lipped smile as he takes the tiny ziplock bag from his hands, sticking the four bright pink pills in the back of his jeans. “Thanks.”

Andy just jerks his eyebrows in response, going back to kissing the neck of the girl on his lap, leaving Zayn to wander up the beach through half drunk dancers.

He’s nearly made it up to the parking lot when he feels a cool hand rest on the small of his back, another looping around his wrist and pulling him to a stop. He turns, barely having time to register that it’s Perrie before she’s kissing him, pulling herself up to his level with arms around his neck.

And he doesn’t really want her tonight but can’t remember how to say no, so he just whispers an invitation and pulls her up to his car, climbing over each other in the backseat. It’s too hot and the leather seats stick to his back as she sits over him, blonde hair long and lovely as it falls down her chest and really she’s just the sort of thing he wants to hurt.

But then hurting and loving have always been pretty intertwined for him, and he supposes he can pretend this feeling is love for a little while. He pulls her shirt off and she pulls off his, pale hands running down his chest as he holds her hips, slipping off her jeans.

She smells like the beach, flower perfume, and just a little like weed, warm and sweet when she kisses him, hot breath in his ear as he turns her over and presses her against the leather. She’s whispering things to him, soft moans that tremble from her lips but he can’t think of anything to say to her as he buries his face in her messy hair so he just stays silent. 

He bites against her neck as he sinks into her, painting red marks across her soft skin because he likes owning things, marking them as his. It’s a thing with him, getting to put his hands on something and know that it’s his for a little while. Some part of him knows that’s a little bit fucked up.

She’s shifting her hips against his, long fingernails scratching trails down his back as he thrusts deep into her like it’ll make him feel better. It almost does, nervous energy making his mouth frantic against hers, hands rough and movements rougher.

She comes with murmuring gasps and he follows after her, fingers bruising into her hips as he collapses onto her chest. Their lips are nearly touching and he thinks about kissing her but pulls back and leans up against the seat instead. 

She gives him a small smile from her spot on the other side of the car like she knows just what he’s thinking, toeing his pants over to him. “Fancy a smoke?”

He nods, reaching down and wiggling into the fabric the best he can in the confines of the car. By the time he gets them on she’s lighting a cigarette, the soft flame casting warm shadows across her face. He’s having one of those moments where he thinks he might be able to love her, and he hates them because it’s always worse afterwards.

She takes a drag and then hands it to him, blowing out a slow stream of smoke as he takes a drag of his own. She twiddles her fingers once he’s done, gesturing for him to return it to her, but he just reaches for her arm and tugs her so she’s sitting between his legs, her back to his chest.

“Here.” He guides the cigarette to her lips, mouth brushing against her ear as she breathes slowly in, a lazy smiles curling across her face as she blows out.

She leans her head back against his collarbone. “Hey Zayn?”

“Yeah?”

“You aren’t ever going to be able to love me, are you?” It’s matter of fact, to the point, and Zayn doesn’t know how to answer it. It seems like his life hasn’t been in black and white for a long time, descending into a swirling pool of gray. 

“I think I could love you.” He says finally, running a hand slowly across her forearm. 

She laughs, low and throaty. “That’s what I thought.”

He kisses her on the cheek because she’s beautiful and he can. “What do you mean?”

“You’re very strange you know.” She says, trapping his hands and holding them in hers. “I think you’ve fallen a little bit in love with everyone you know.” She taps her fingernails, long and painted a sparkling pink, against the top of his hands. “I wonder why that is.”

Zayn stills behind her. “What are you talking about?”

She just smiles, handing him the cigarette and retrieving her clothes from the floor, snapping on her bra and pulling her panties up her legs. “Someday you’re going to have to take a chance and put all your eggs in one basket.” She replies, kissing him soundly on the lips and moving for the door. “Nobody deserves to be loved with half of someone’s heart.”

He thinks that maybe he should fight for her, but all he can feel is a soft confusion settling over his bones. “Are you leaving me?”

She shrugs, opening the door and swinging her legs out. “I don’t know if we were ever really together.”

“I thought we were.”

She shrugs. “Then I guess we were.” He watches the contours of her back as she pulls her tee shirt on, focusing on how her shoulder blades move like wings underneath her skin. “I’ll still love you when you want me to.”

He wants to tell her he loves her, wants to more than anything, but the words are stuck in his throat. “Perrie?”

She turns back to look back in at him through the doorway, jean shorts in her hands, makeup smudged. “Yeah?”

He sighs, inhaling a bit of smoke into his mouth and back out again. “I hope you find someone to love you. You know, better than me.”

She smiles at him as she steps into her shorts. “You too, Love.”

And then she’s slamming the door, leaving him sitting alone in the backseat of his disgustingly expensive car, cigarette burning slowly in his fingers, four pink pills burning a hole in his pocket.

_Take me. Take Me. Take me._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou so much for the lovely response guys it means a ton (:

It’s Liam’s first day of school and it’s really truly beginning to hit him that maybe transferring to Brixton Prep is not the great honor his uncle seems to think it is. It’s third period and he’s already gotten lost twice, his map proving nigh impossible to read. His uniform is probably the most uncomfortable thing he’s ever encountered: a pair of overly tight khakis, starched white button down, navy blazer and red and blue striped tie that really just makes him look like an enormous twat.

He’s about two seconds from cutting his losses and running home when he feels a hand on his shoulder, a female voice floating up to his ear. “Are you as lost as you look, sweetheart?”

He turns in the direction of the sound, eyes wide as they settle on a girl with wild curly hair and smooth coffee colored skin. She’s quite pretty really, and if he was interested in dating girls she’d probably make the list.

He gives her an embarrassed smile, flicking his eyes down to the map in his hands. “I’d have to guess so.”

She laughs, a twinkling sound that’s almost charming. “Where are you trying to go?”

Liam glances down at his schedule. “History, with Berns.”

Her face lights up. “That’s where I’m going!” She takes him by the arm, pulling him down the hall at a brisk walk. “I’m Danielle.”

He smiles, trying not to look too overwhelmed. “I’m Liam.”

She nods, guiding him up a staircase. “Nice to meet you Liam. This your first day?”

He nods, then realizes she isn’t looking at him in the slightest. “Yep. I was supposed to start last week but I ended up with the flu.”

She freezes, pulling her hand off his arm. “You aren’t contagious, are you?”

He shakes his head, trying to give her a reassuring look. “Not in the least. I probably could have been back Friday, but my mom’s kind of crazy.”

Her smile returns along with her grip on his arm as she pulls him through a rush of perfectly starched students with expensive looking haircuts. “Understandable. Have you made any friends yet?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. I’ve only been here a few hours you know.” If he’s being honest, he’s not really sure he wants to do the whole making friends thing. It’s never been the easiest for him in the first place, and he still has a bad taste in his mouth from his old school where everyone somehow found out he was gay way before he was ready to tell them. It’s not that he doesn’t like people, its just that he doesn’t want to go through all that again.

She waves her hand dismissively. “Well you seem nice, I’ll help you out.” She nearly shoves him into a classroom. “Here we are!”

“So what do you do, Liam?” She asks as soon as they sit down, placing her bag on the ground and rummaging around for a notebook and pencil. “Anything fun? Sports?”

He shakes his head, pulling a fresh new notebook from his backpack. Liam likes sports, he’s always been down for a pickup game or anything of that sort, but he’s not a star player by any stretch of the imagination. “I’m more into singing.”

She claps her hands excitedly, giving him a wide grin. “That’s so cool! I’m a dancer, so I mean I’ve always really loved music.”

He smiles, deciding he’s glad that of all the people who could have found him wandering the halls, he was picked up by Danielle. She’s nice, albeit in an almost overexuberant fashion, but he’s decided to find it amusing. “What styles do you do?” He asks, because his mom coerced him into taking a little ballet when he was younger, despite his protests that it was stupid and gay. A bit ironic, seeing where he is now.

She seems pleased by the question. “I do a lot, mostly hip hop, a little jazz, lyrical on wednesdays.” He can almost see the moment an idea strikes her. “Oh my god you have to go!”

Liam can feel warning bells going off in his head, but he takes the bait anyway. “Go where...?”

And then her hands are clutching his. “Hip hop! On thursday! I’m doing a class with one of my friends and you have to go!”

Liam makes a face. “Is it going to be me and a bunch of seven year olds?”

She laughs at his reaction. “No! It’s just high school kids from around here. Mostly we just fuck around and it would be so cool if you went.” She gives him a pointed look. “And it would be a perfect way to meet new people.”

And she looks so excited that its all Liam can do to nod his affirmative, doomed to spent the rest of the class wondering if perhaps he’s made an enormous mistake.

xx

It’s stupid. Zayn knows it’s stupid but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s sitting on his bed and trying not to cry about it like some fucking child. The thing is that when his parents told them that they’d actually be home for the entire weekend, that they might actually be a family for a solid five minutes he hadn’t really believed them, but it still hurt when his Dad called in from LA and told them there was no way he’d be back by Sunday.

He knows there are healthy ways of dealing with this, ways that don’t involve the tiny pink pills hidden in his desk drawer, but he wants the easy way out. It’s only once he’s gotten one in his palm, small, round and dangerous, that he realizes it’s not the easy way out, not really.

Not when he knows how Harry is going to look at him tomorrow when he figures out what Zayn is hiding from him, when he gives him the look that’s somewhere between pity and hurt. So he shoves the stupid thing back where it came from and calls Harry.

He picks up on the third ring, sounding sleepy. “Yes, baby?”

Zayn clears his throat, words feeling a bit stuck in his chest. Harry has told him a million times that he doesn’t care how often Zayn does this, that he wants to be there for him more than anything and that no, he’s not annoying him, its perfectly okay, but he still hates needing help. He hates that he’s so weak.

“Can you sleep over tonight?”

Zayn can feel Harry gauging his tone, trying to figure out how wrong things have gone. “Everything alright?”

Zayn makes a noncommittal noise in response. “Would you believe me if I said it was?”

Harry gives a soft little laugh. “Probably not.” Zayn can hear him get out of bed, the springs of his mattress squeaking as he moves. “I’ll see you in a minute, babe.”

“See you a minute.” Zayn ends the call, pulling his covers up to his chest as he waits for Harry. It usually takes him a solid fifteen minutes to get to Zayn’s house on the stupid motorcycle he got on his seventeenth birthday even though he got a bright blue bentley the year before. 

By the time he hears Harry’s telltale footsteps he’s getting restless again, his hair a mess from pulling his hands through it so many times. He tries to look calm as Harry eases his door open, sliding it shut behind him with a soft click. He’s wearing a pair of grass stained khakis and a powder blue tee shirt, his curls mussed from his biking helmet.

“Hey.” He whispers into the quiet, even though the only person awake is Zayn’s sister, and she’s rooms away. 

Zayn sits up, giving him small smile. “Thanks for coming.”

Harry shrugs, moving to undo his pants, letting them pool around his ankles and stepping out of them. “No problem.” He pulls off his shirt in one swift motion, revealing his toned chest, the moonlight making him glow pale and lovely. “Want to talk?”

Zayn shrugs, fingers itching to touch him. He thinks about what Perrie said about how he falls a little bit in love with everyone he touches, and he thinks it’s probably true. He loves everyone so much, but never quite enough. “Perrie and I broke up.” He says, because that’s easy.

Harry moves to the bed, climbing on top of the covers and over Zayn in one swift movement, stopping so their faces are nearly touching. “I didn’t know you two were really together.”

Zayn shrugs, running a hand up to Harry’s face, tracing a finger across his bottom lip. “Neither did she. Neither did I.”

Harry nods, nipping quickly at Zayn’s finger. “Anything else?”

“Yeah.”

Harry tilts his head, waiting for Zayn to respond, kissing him quickly on the lips when he realizes he’s not going to. “I’ll make you feel better.” He says between kisses, running his hand through Zayn’s hair just like he likes, the other one bracing himself on the bed. “Let me make you better.”

Zayn nods, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Harry’s curls, pressing their lips firmly together. Harry murmurs a soft noise of approval against his mouth, slipping one leg between Zayn’s and rutting slowly against his thigh. 

Zayn lets out a soft groan at the sensation, stopping Harry with hands that tremble only the smallest bit with regret. “Not tonight, Haz.”

Harry pulls back ever so slightly, their noses bumping, foreheads resting against each other. “What should I do?”

Zayn pulls him down so their chests are flush, warm skin against warm skin. “Just kiss me.”

Harry smiles fondly, brushing a gentle hand across Zayn’s cheek. “Very middle school.”

Zayn does a tiny little shrug. “I liked middle school.”

Harry presses their mouths back together for the smallest moment. “I like kissing you.”

xx

Zayn doesn’t mean to take them. God, it’s one moment of weakness and suddenly he’s so high and everything is so beautiful and Harry is shoving him into the bathroom and he’s so disappointed and Zayn doesn’t know why.

“It was only one pill, Haz. I can go to class I’m perfect.”

Harry just shakes his head, intensity in his eyes like he only gets when he’s really upset. “Zayn I don’t know why the fuck I put up with you.” He mutters as he pushes him through the door and sits him down on the tiles. He lets out a sigh that aches with exhaustion. “Can you sit here and wait for me, love? Can you stay here until lunch?”

Zayn reaches out, grabbing Harry’s lapel with jittering hands. “Stay with me.”

Harry just shakes his head, standing up and trying to fix his hair. “Not this time Zayney.”

He can see the sadness in Harry’s eyes, and it’s bad because all he wants is to make Harry not sad and he doesn’t know how. “I’ve fucked up, haven’t I?”

Harry just nods, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead before heading back out. “You fucked up, Zayn.” 

And so Zayn waits on the cold ground, his head dropped back against the tile, lighting a cigarette with shaking fingers.

xx

Really, Liam shouldn’t be all that surprised that he’s ended up with his smoothie spilled down his white button down. It’s just his luck too, try to be healthy and he ends up with a huge pink stain across his front.

He excuses himself from second period, ignoring the sympathetic and amused stares of his classmates as he books it to the bathroom, trying to at least confine the spill to the bottom half of his shirt with only moderate success.

He’s got his button up halfway off by the time he gets there, the place reeking of piss and cigarette smoke. He wrinkles his noise, shoving his tie haphazardly into the back of his pants as he throws his soiled shirt into the sink. He’s got the water on, pink circles running down the drain when he hears a voice from the ground, soft and lilting.

“You can borrow my shirt if you’d like.” He freezes, eyes finding their way to a boy chain smoking on the floor, a wan smile curling across his face. He’s a mess; tie undone, hair all askew, dark circles underneath his eyes, cigarette butts littering the ground by his feet. It looks like some part of him that should be alive isn’t. “I think I’m going home.”

Liam doesn’t answer, just stares like he can’t quite process the sight in front of him. 

The boy seems to take his silence as an affirmative, stubbing his cigarette out on the tile and beginning to unbutton his shirt, sliding the thin fabric down his arms. He’s kindof pretty actually, golden skin that’s nearly yellow in the florescent lights, sharp collarbones marked by stark black ink. Liam wonders for a moment what the foreign words say before his brain completely catches up. 

“What are you doing?”

The dark haired boy shrugs, that same dead smile on his face as he tosses his shirt up, leaning back. His eyes are too bright, like he's staring into the sun, like he's all burned up inside. “I’m waiting for Harry.”

“Are you drunk?” Liam asks, because there’s something strange about his movements, something not right in his eyes.

He shakes his head, the blonde highlights at the front of his fringe mixing with his stark black hair. “Pills. I’m waiting for Harry to take me home.”

Liam takes a deep breath, picking the boy’s shirt off the ground. It’s definitely about two sizes too small for him, but he’s not sure if the golden skinned boy really wants it back so he just holds it awkwardly in his hands. “Where’s Harry?”

He shrugs, looking completely disoriented for a moment, his hands sliding where he placed them on the floor. “I don’t know.” There’s an abrupt mood shift, a smile curling across his face that’s somehow eerie and beautiful at the same time. “Can you take me home?”

Liam chokes a bit on his words. “I- I can’t I-”

He moves to stand, coming up so he’s nearly touching Liam, hands hovering by his shoulders. “Please.” 

The real problem with Liam Payne is that he’s never been able to resist a pretty face and the word please. “How far away do you live?”

“Close.” The black haired boy affirms, then leans in, whispering into Liam’s ear. “I can give you directions.”

This is a bad idea, he knows it’s a bad idea but somehow he finds himself digging into his backpack for his blazer and sliding it on over his white tee shirt, button down still sitting in the sink where he’s fairly sure he’s just going to have to leave it. “Put your shirt back on.” He says shortly, holding out the fabric to the boy whose name he still doesn’t know.

The dark haired boy just smiles, holding out his arms until Liam relents to his unspoken demand, sliding the sleeves across sinewy muscle and neatly buttoning the front. “What’s your name?” Liam asks as he drags the both of them out into the hallway, walking brusquely towards the entrance in the hope that if they look like they know where they’re going, maybe no one will bother them.

“Whatever you want.” The boy whispers, leaning into Liam like he's the only thing holding him up. “Make one up for me.”

“You don’t have to whisper.” Liam gripes at the boy practically hanging off of him, his hands creeping around his torso, finding the ID hanging off the lanyard around his neck.

“Yes I do, Liam Payne.” He whispers, seeming to take the greatest delight in making Liam’s job as difficult as possible. "Your name isn't as lovely as you are."

“So where’s your ID then? No name, no ID?” He asks, deliberately ignoring the second part of the sentence, noticing a distinct absence of a backpack, or anything that could possibly identify the boy. 

“Nope. I’m like a leaf on the wind, man.” He says, with incredible confidence for someone’s who’s making leaf metaphors, as Liam coerces him outside and in the direction of his gunmetal gray truck. He never really stops moving, his body constantly in motion, whether it’s his trembling fingers finding paths across Liam’s chest or his body falling this way and that.

“Would you happen to know how much trouble you get in for skipping class?” Liam asks, the warm August air creeping until his blazer, sun shining hot on his hair.

“Not too much.” The boy assures him, abruptly letting go of Liam’s waist and taking his hand instead, threading their fingers together, his movements just a little bit twitchy. Liam tenses, wringing his hand out of the boy’s grasp. 

“Don’t do that.”

He stumbles hard as he links their arms together, confusing flooding his gaze. “Why not?”

Liam tries to configure his face into something resembling neutrality. “I’d just like it better if you didn’t.” He can still remember the looks he used to get at his old school, how their stares would pierce his back as he walked down the hallway, their whispers following him around corners and all the way home.

“Okay.” The reply is soft and it doesn't sound like he's flying quite as high anymore, like he’s deflating. Liam wonders how long it’ll be before he starts to come down, what he’s going to have to do then.

“Hey, it’s not your fault.” Liam finds himself saying as he opens the passenger door of his ford, helping the other boy up with careful hands. “I’m just... Just don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” Is the only answer he gets as he slams the door shut, heading around to climb in the driver’s side.

“So where do you live?” He asks, the car turning on with a great heaving of the engine. The boy starts, looking up from examining the upholstery with his fingertips to give Liam a wide eyed stare, glassy brown eyes holding his. 

“Not sure.”

Liam grips the steering wheel a little bit harder. “Well I can’t take you to not sure.” 

“You don’t have to take me anywhere.” He replies, reaching for the handle.

And Liam can’t bring himself to let him leave, because sometime between finding him on the floor and bringing him out here he’s become oddly responsible for him. “Yes I do.”

“Take me home.” He says, moving to fiddle with the radio. He’s coming down, Liam’s pretty sure, his movements less frantic and more slow as he plays with the dials, an almost somber look on his face. 

Liam nods, pulling out of his parking space, because honestly what the fuck else is he going to do. He can’t just leave him here and they can’t just sit in his car all period while he waits for an address. It’s a decent drive back to his house, ten minutes of silence as the boy plays with the radio and looks out the window. 

There’s no one home when he pulls into the driveway, pulling his charge out of the front seat and taking him up the walk. He’s less handsy now, going introspective as Liam lets himself in. 

“Are you going to be okay?” Liam asks, taking him to the kitchen. The strange boy sits down on one of the stools by the island, resting his elbows on the counter. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He says, though it’s not really all that convincing. 

“Can I make you something? Tea? Hot chocolate?” Liam asks, because he looks so fucking sad just sitting there, shoulders slumped.

“I’m alright.”

Liam pauses a moment, before heading for the kettle, taking it over to the sink to fill it. “Well I’m making myself something and you’re getting some too.” Because if he’s not going to ask for help then Liam is just going to give it to him.

Liam thinks he almost catches a smile out of the other boy, but it’s gone before he can really tell.

“So what happened?” Liam asks, half just to make small talk and half because he can feel unhappiness radiating off the kid in waves, the sharp angles of his face blank. 

The boy shrugs. “Just having a bad time of it.” It’s one of the first completely sensical sentences he’s gotten out of him, which Liam regards as a definite plus. “It’s not that bad.”

“Seems pretty bad.” Liam says, taking the seat next to him as he waits for the water to boil. 

“It’s not really. I just get sad sometimes and I don’t...” He pauses, looking down at the table. “I don’t know what to do with it.”

“It’s okay to be upset about things.” He knows better than anyone the truth in that. For a while, he thought that feeling upset and angry was the problem, but the problem always seems to be in not letting himself feel what he had to feel.

“I just wish I wasn’t. Its like I can’t feel anything good anymore.” There’s something confessionary about the the words, like he’s never said them out loud before.

“That’s stupid. There’s always good things.” Liam replies, resting his feet on the rungs of the chair. “Even when it seems like there aren’t.”

“I guess so.” He replies, but it seems more obligatory than like he really means it.

The kettle goes off after a few more minutes of silence which should feel awkward but don’t. He gets the feeling that whoever this person sitting next to him is, he’s not too concerned with filling the air with small talk. Liam's that way too, silence a privilege he's not often comfortable enough to indulge in.

He gets two cups down from the cabinet, a travel cup with stars on the side and a christmas mug left from the year before. He procures two bags of swiss miss, shaking them in and pouring water over them with a burst of burbling chocolate steam. He pulls out a spoon, mixing the two drinks with care, before pushing the Christmas mug across to his guest.

“Festive.” The other boy comments with another one of those almost smiles, breathing in the steam from the top of his cup.

“Isn’t it?” Liam replies, screwing the top onto his mug, picking his keys up from the counter. “My mom gets home around three thirty, but you can stay as long as you want.”

The boy nods, looking a little embarrassed all of a sudden. “Thankyou.”

“No problem.” He fixes his hair in the mirror above the coat rack. “You’re going to be okay here by yourself?”

He nods. “I’ll be fine. Thanks though.”

“It’s really nothing.” Liam replies, heading back out the door. “See you at school then?”

The other boy takes a small sip of the hot chocolate. “Yeah. See you then.”

And Liam doesn’t know why, but as he closes the door and heads back to his truck, he finds himself smiling.

xx

Liam comes home to find the house completely empty, Christmas cup washed and in the drainer. There’s a folded piece of paper left on the counter, his name printed on the front, so he picks it up and unfolds it carefully. On it, in dark blue pen, are a few lines.

_Sorry about earlier. Thankyou for everything._

_\- Zayn_

So that’s his name.

xx

Liam arrives at the athletic building about three minutes late, depositing his backpack in the corner by the others and pushing into the dance room. It’s a big space, with enormous windows on one wall and enormous mirrors on the other. It’s already filled with people, Danielle in leggings and a baggy tee shirt and the others dressed in a similar fashion, doing stretches to some Lady GaGa song he vaguely recognizes. She straightens when he enters, a smile breaking across her face. “I thought you’d forgotten!”

Liam shakes his head, bracing himself as she careens into him. “Almost found myself in the volleyball tryouts, but I got here eventually.”

She laughs, turning to the group, who have all abandoned stretching in favor of checking him out. “This is Liam, he’s a newbie, so don’t be too mean to him.”

He gives an awkward half wave, wondering just what he’s gotten himself into as stretching resumes.

“Alright, we’re going to learn a bit of a dance now.” Danielle says, clapping her hands together and leaning against the bar stretching across the mirrored wall. “You guys all know Toxic by Britney Spears?”

One of the guys in the back of the class makes a sound of annoyance. “I thought we agreed no more Britney.”

She juts a hip out. “We agreed no more Ke$ha. No one said anything about Britney.”

The boy throws an arm towards Liam. “What about poor Liam here. You’re going to subject him to Britney on his first day?”

Liam wonders if it would be at all possible to sink into the floor. “She’s not too bad... Her stuff’s pretty catchy...”

Danielle claps excitedly. “See Aiden! Everyone loves Britney!” She turns back to the front. “Alright, we’re going to start at the chorus.”

A half and hour later finds Liam sweaty, moderately confused, and extremely determined. Danielle is a good teacher, that isn’t the problem, but dancing is much harder than he’d originally anticipated and he still hasn’t quite got the remembering choreography thing down. He’s trying to get the footwork - something called a padebure which he’s pretty sure is just French for ‘you are going to want to die’ - when the door opens, a dark haired boy with golden skin entering as quietly as he can.

He’s got his hair slicked up in a messy quiff, black sweatpants that hang low on his hips, and a white tank top that shows off the tattoo on his collarbone. He’s alarmingly familiar, and Liam, for about the fifteenth time since the beginning of class tries his very best to stay out of sight. 

Zayn, because of course it’s him, jogs up to Danielle, who stops teaching as soon as she spots him. They have a quick whispered conference at the front of the room, which ends in her giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He wonders if maybe she’s his girlfriend, and then tries not to wonder why that makes his stomach twist.

“Alright slackers.” She says as he takes position beside her, giving her a moment to fix her ponytail. “From the beginning.”

Liam counts the beat in his head, watching Aiden and trying to make his limbs do what Aiden’s are, hoping he looks less stupid than he feels. He’s actually doing pretty well until he notices that Zayn is most certainly not dancing and most definitely staring at him with an expression that’s half embarrassment and half fear. 

He stumbles, nearly toppling over even as he tries to get back in he rhythm. He makes a valiant effort, but it’s pretty much a lost cause by the time the section ends.

Danielle calls him out, amusement softening her words. “What happened, Payne? You fell apart in the middle!” 

And its not like he can say ‘oh sorry, your hot friend was staring me down, probably because I found him in the school bathroom a few days ago and let him stay in my kitchen’ so he just shrugs and says the first thing that comes to mind. “Got a bit tripped up.”

She laughs. “I can tell!” There’s a blissful beat of rest before she kneels, finger on the play button. “Again?”

The class itself is only two hours, but by the end Liam feels like he’s been there for days. When Danielle said that they mostly just fuck around, she was most definitely lying. His shirt is sticking to his back and his entire body feels a little gelatinous. He runs, so it’s not like he isn’t used to the physical exertion, but as he heads for the drinking fountain he’s finding muscles he didn’t even know existed. Plus, he has Toxic in his head.

A few of the others give him smiles and waves as he returns to get his backpack, which he takes as a good sign. He’s definitely the worst dancer of the group, but he figures that just gives him a whole lot of room for improvement. 

He’s just picking up his backpack from where he’d discarded it on the floor when he notices that the room isn’t completely empty. Zayn is standing in the middle of the floor, doing body rolls and hip movements and throwing his body around in fluid motions that Liam can’t fully comprehend. He didn’t dance all that much in the class, mostly watched Danielle from the front, and Liam thought maybe it was because he was just learning too. Seeing him now, his lean figure moving like this is what it was made for, he doesn’t think so. 

When he ends the combination it’s precise and kindof beautiful, holding perfectly still before he relaxes, running a hand back through his hair and moving straight into some quick routine of shoulder movements and complicated footwork.

There’s something incredible about how his body works, his entire frame part of the dance as he goes from move to move, eyes sharp with concentration, chest fluttering with exertion. Liam remembers thinking how he looked almost dead sitting on the floor, but he looks incredibly alive now, like maybe he was saving all of his life for this moment, letting it pour out of his skin.

He doesn’t even realize he’s been staring until Danielle comes up behind him. “He’s really talented, isn’t he?” 

He starts, looking back at her with wide eyes. “Yeah, I, well yeah.”

She laughs, gauging the situation with keen eyes. “I think he likes you. Barely took his eyes off you the entire rehearsal.”

He shakes his head, tries not to blush. “Don’t think he’s staring because he likes me.”

She shrugs, pressing her nose to the glass. “I know Zayn. You interest him.”

“Oh.” A thought niggles at the back of his mind, worry making his thoughts go too fast. “You wouldn’t tell anyone, would you? That, well, you know.”

“I only guessed.” She says, looking the tiniest bit smug, then comforting as she registers Liam’s discomfort. “If you don’t want me to tell anyone, I won’t.”

He nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Because I’m not.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Of course. But if you were, I wouldn’t tell a soul.”

He smiles, taking one last look at Zayn as he follows Dani down the stairs. “Thankyou.”

And he can still hear the whispers but they don’t seem to matter so much anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i know nothing about drug use i just sit on my bed and eat pizza goldfish so like apologies if you're more hardcore than me and yahoo answers lied about ecstasy which fun fact is super hard to remember how to spell  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

Harry’s mum has this party every single year and he’s fairly sure he hates it more with each go round. It’s the ‘welcome autumn soiree,’ which is actually the most vomit inducing title he’s ever heard. Still, despite his protests, he’s somehow ended up wearing his nice silver blazer over a white button down, looking nice and put together in his shiny black shoes. He does a slow half turn in the mirror, examining the long line of his legs in his almost painfully tight dress pants. They aren’t all that comfortable, but it’s worth it for the way he knows Zayn will run his hand over the inseam of his thigh during desert and how everyone will stare while he sips something less than legal.

He doesn’t see how it’s all that different from all those pretty girls with their cleavage and legs that go on for miles. There’s no shame in liking the stares on his back as he walks away. 

The party is already in full swing when he gets downstairs, his mother and all her socialite friends mingling in the dining room. He’s missed dinner, something he gleans from the empty plates in the adjoining dining room and the way his mother is glaring daggers at him from the other side of the party. He blows her a small kiss, smiling as he demonstrates how well he’s managed to dress himself. She rolls her eyes disapprovingly, but he knows he’s off the hook for now. Arriving at all is still one step ahead of last year, and arriving well dressed... well Harry is feeling a little bit like he deserves some sort of prize.

“You look nice.” The voice is soft in his ear, but he recognizes it immediately, finding Zayn at his shoulder, an elaborate ring on his finger and a glass of red wine in his hand.

“You too.” Zayn’s wearing a maroon suit and it looks gorgeous against his skin tone, the sleeves rolled up to reveal white cuffs. His wine matches his outfit, which is stupid but typical Zayn. “I would’ve gone with a bit of lipstick though, really would have added to your color theme.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows. “Don’t think my lips are red enough?”

Harry wiggles his eyebrows in return, relieving Zayn of his wine glass and downing a generous gulp. “A bit too early for that kind of talk, I’m not even half drunk yet.”

“Like you haven’t fucked me sober.” Is Zayn’s parting remark as he heads over to some helpless serving boy in search of more alcohol.

Harry smiles after him, relieved to find him in good spirits, at least for Zayn. He tries not to worry about him, but he can’t help it sometimes. He still hasn’t completely gotten over that morning in the bathroom a week ago and he knows Zayn is still feeling the effects, though he hides it well. Zayn hides a lot of things well.

His friends are scattered around the room, some looking more happy to be here than others. Mingled between them are the esteemed looking men and fabulously dressed women he knows he’s supposed to be making a good impression on. His father’s words hang over his head: ‘You’re never going to amount to anything if all you do is get drunk and fuck girls, make an impression, take what’s meant to be yours.’ Harry shakes out his curls, twirling the wine glass around in his fingers. It’s really get high and fuck boys, but he doesn’t really think that would make his dad all that much happier.

“You look like shit, babe.”

He turns, finding a red haired Cher at his shoulder, her latest hair style big, curled and beautiful as always. 

“Charming, aren’t you?” He says, tempted to steal her drink, but fairly sure she wouldn’t part with it as easily as Zayn had. She’s making an effort tonight and conforming fairly nicely to the color theme, her eggplant hued dress nearly the exact color of the napkins, and somehow it suits her. “And I don’t look like shit, I’m fabulous.”

“You’re right.” She smiles up at him, all pearly white teeth and pale pink lip stain. “Right now you look gorgeous, but you’re probably going to be a drunken mess in about three hours. And then you’re going to look like shit.”

He raises an eyebrow at her, wishing she wasn’t quite so tall her in gold heels so he could use his height so his advantage. “So you’re preemptively insulting me?”

“Essentially.” She replies, spinning her glass with dainty fingers and pointing a pinkie over at where Louis is standing alone, looking exceptionally displeased by the room around him. “So have you fucked him?”

Harry laughs, a smirk alighting on his face. “Not as of yet.”

She shrugs like it’s only a matter of time as opposed to a dirty fantasy he maybe shouldn’t have let slip. “I wonder what he’d let you do if you got him faded. I bet he’s a slut once he’s a little out of his mind.”

“I just want to lick his face.” Harry says, a pout falling onto his lips. 

Cher scoffs. “So tame. I’d like to get him up against a wall and snog him senseless.”

Harry just smiles and nods, thinking that Louis Tomlinson probably wouldn’t let anyone get him up against any walls unless he wanted them to. He thinks he’s really, really okay with that. “Something along those lines.”

“You should go talk to him. Start a friendship, braid each other’s hair, and talk about your favorite Jonas brother.”

“Joe.” 

Cher laughs, a boisterous sound that’s kindof endearing. “Definitely Joe. Now go talk to him, you freak.”

Harry nods, reluctantly leaving her side and heading over to where Louis is standing, black suit and scarlet tie, hair slicked back and blue eyes as hard as flint. There’s a fragility about his bone structure, but he belies it with the strong tilt to his shoulders and the firm line of his lips. Harry watches him, discarding his empty wine glass on the table and picking up two full ones, wondering what on earth he’s doing and why he ever does to what his friends tell him to do.

Louis only notices him once they’re nearly toe to toe, gaze surprised and almost annoyed as he realizes Harry is definitely heading for him. There’s a steely quality to the stare that makes Harry’s heart beat just a little bit faster. “Do you need something?”

And Harry was going to be cordial, but there’s something deliciously challenging in Louis’ words. “What, do they not teach your manners? I’m being a gracious and helpful host.” He replies with faux-sweetness, pressing the glass into Louis’ hands.

“They do, but I thought the manners course was the one right after Not Punching People In The Face 101, so I’d just assumed you’d missed it.” He sneers, but doesn’t move away, just looks up at Harry with the infuriatingly petulant look Harry would like to kiss right off his stupid face. His bruise has mostly healed but Harry can still see its vestiges and it makes him feel just a little bit powerful.

“So where’s the girlfriend? Run off because she’s figured out you like cock?” He leans forward on the last word, popping the k and liking the way Louis stiffens when he does it. 

“She’s got the flu.” Louis replies, looking a little bit thrown. It’s almost disappointing really, besting Louis Tomlinson. Fighting isn’t fun if he can win so easily.

“Not your best comeback, Louis, I’m upset.” Harry replies, his voice a little bit softer. He doesn’t actually want to hurt Louis, just start a fire behind his eyes.

“It wasn’t a comeback. I’m just finished speaking with you.” Louis holds his glass a little tighter than necessary, his lips flattening into a thin line. But he doesn’t move away, he never moves away.

Harry leans closer to him, wanting some kind of reaction. Play along with me. Pretend you hate me and I’ll pretend I hate you. He’s almost surprised by the thought, because when did he have to pretend at all? “C’mon, don’t be like that.” Harry presses. “Want to do something with me?”

The reply is sharp and immediate. “No.”

“Want to come with me while I do something?” Because Cher has gotten him thinking and it’s making his hands itch. Fuck this party, fuck everything except Louis and his eyes and his hands and his lips lips lips.

“No.”

“Will you?” 

Louis lets out a world weary sigh, taking a generous gulp of his wine. “Probably.”

Harry attempts the half smile Zayn likes best, but somehow it morphs into an enormous dimpling grin and well, that works too. “Follow me.”

Louis is a few steps behind him and for once he’s grateful that these parties are so boring because otherwise there’s no way Louis would be following. “No funny business, right?” He asks in a clipped tone, sounding extremely unenthused about the whole situation as they head out of the main room, through one of Harry’s sitting rooms onto the balcony outside. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Harry replies, squatting down to pull up one of the planks, sliding a small wooden box out of the niche underneath. “Don’t you think about pulling anything funny either, wouldn’t want me to have to give you a nosejob to match your girlfriend’s, would you?”

Louis sits down next to Harry, setting his wine glass down on the pristine white slats. “Well we both know how well that went for you last time.”

Harry shrugs, stopping his fiddling with the clasp to lean closer to Louis. “Well if at first you don’t succeed...”

Louis meets his gaze head on. “Well then you’re probably Harry Styles.”

Harry lets out a soft gust of breath that’s vaguely erotic, fluttering his eyelashes. “God I love it when you insult me.”

Louis pulls back, glaring at him. “You’re not funny, Harry.”

“M’not trying to be funny.”

Louis just sighs, his eyes following Harry as he opens up the box, pulling out a plastic bag. 

“Is that pot?”

Harry gives him a look. “No, they’re suspicious rolls of paper I keep under my porch for no reason.”

“I was just asking.”

Harry picks up the crap lighter from the bottom of the box, flicking it to life and lighting the j held between his teeth. “Ever smoked before?”

Louis shakes his head like he’s almost embarrassed, but is trying his very best not to show it. “It’s not my scene.”

Harry takes a tiny little drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs for a moment before letting it out. His mother will probably kill him if he finishes her party baked, but he’ll be a much more pleasurable host if he’s a little hazy around the edges. “Do you want it to be your scene?”

Louis shakes his head, looking just a little bit proper. “No.”

“Living a little isn’t going to hurt you, you know.” Harry says with a smile, the familiar dizzy warmth descending slowly over him as he takes another tiny hit.

“But your shitty drugs might.” Louis replies, but Harry can see him slowly relaxing, a resigned tilt to his shoulders.

“I would never buy shitty drugs, who do you think I am?”

“Harry Styles.”

Harry laughs, that full bodied thing that makes Cher press fond kisses to his curls. “Cruel.” And when he looks over, incredibly, miraculously, Louis has a smile on his face. It’s small, just a little curious upturning of his lips, and Harry is fairly sure Louis doesn’t even know he’s doing it, but it’s there. “Lean close to me.”

Louis gives him a calculating look, leaning just a bit closer.

“Farther.”

He sighs, scooting up so their faces are inches apart. “Better?” He curls his lip a little as the smoke reaches his nose, but it’s almost cute when he does it.

Harry nods, breathing in bitter smoke and holding it in his mouth for a long moment, wondering how to go about this. Whenever he does this with Zayn its a bit slower and more careful, but Louis isn’t really either of those things so he’s just going to have to make it work.

“What are you-” Harry moves in, cutting Louis’ words off as he breathes the smoke into the other boy’s mouth.

For a moment, it seems like Louis is actually too surprised to do anything but take in a panicked breath. He holds perfectly still, lips pressed to Harry’s, eyes squeezed shut as Harry holds Louis’ face to his, stroking his thumb across his cheek. It’s Harry who pulls away, leaving Louis gasping and coughing as he lets the smoke out in a long gust and then has to fill his lungs back up with oxygen. Harry kindof expected him to be angry, to yell or throw things, but he just looks kind of shell shocked. He’s a deer caught in headlights and it’s almost sad.

“Why do you keep doing shit like that?” Louis asks, picking up his wine glass with shaking fingers and taking a gulp.

“Doing what?” Harry asks, because he’s starting to feel the soft warmth of the high but there’s something sobering about the look on Louis’ face.

“Touching me and just-” He trails off, rubbing a hand across his throat. “It burns a little.”

He looks so lost just sitting there, and Harry is suddenly positive that somehow his impermeable shell has crumbled beneath him, that this is the brittle skeleton that lies beneath. “What are you so afraid of?” He asks, curling his free hand against his jacket so he won’t reach out for him. 

“Why did you say you wanted me?” Louis asks instead of answering, and Harry wonders if even he knows the answer. He can feel the weed in his system, and he usually gets giggly around now, but the shiver of the night air and the way the hollows under Louis’ eyes bruise a pale blue make the whole thing feel solemn. 

“When did I say that?” Harry asks, because he wants Louis to tell him he remembers, tell him that maybe he notices Harry too. He knows that Louis cares, cares about what he says no matter how much he tries to pretend he’s made of ice. 

“At the party. On the beach.” Louis shakes his head like he wishes he could forget just as much as Harry is glad he remembers. “Hand me the joint.”

Harry obliges, watching as Louis raises it to his lips like it’s going to bite him, finally just closing his eyes and taking a long drag, holding it in until his eyes water and then breathing out with a hacking cough. 

“I don’t feel anything.” Louis says, handing it back to Harry. “Aren’t I supposed to feel something?”

Harry shrugs, taking it back. “Not everyone feels it their first time.”

Louis nods slowly. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry I punched you.” He says, a wry smile falling across his lips. He is, not because Louis didn’t deserve it, but because he thinks he never really wanted to hurt him, just get his attention.

Louis nods. “I shouldn’t have said that shit about your-” He seems to have trouble getting the next word out. “Boyfriend.”

Harry shakes his head, taking a small puff, the joint slowly burning down. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh. Well.” Louis stands up slowly, looking exhausted. “I think I’m going to call a cab.”

“Why?” Harry asks.

“I don’t have the energy to be Louis Tomlinson tonight.” He replies simply, smoothing out his tie and bending to set his wine glass by Harry. 

Harry nods, and he’s feeling all soft and buoyant and it’s kind of awful to see Louis looking so heavy. “Louis?”

“Yes?” It’s tired, and Harry is pretty sure he didn’t sound that weary at the beginning of this whole thing. He wonders if he got tired, or if he’d just been hiding it all along.

“Can we be friends?” He asks, because Louis is the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen, all tan skin and lovely, lovely features and Harry loves friends, he’s great with them, and he thinks Louis needs one. 

Louis shakes his head, walking down the first step and pausing like his body can’t quite decide which direction it wants to go in yet. “No, we can’t.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“I’ve never lied to you, Louis.” Harry says, stubbing the the joint out on the white paint, leaving a tiny black scar. “Think about that, alright?”

Louis just shakes his head, walking down through the grass and around the house, leaving Harry to wrap himself up in the twinkling stars.

xx

The party turns out to be less than awful. The second half is actually fairly tolerable, and by midnight everyone has cleared out, leaving Zayn and Harry to hole up in Harry’s room as his mother and the help rush about downstairs. 

They’re both surprisingly sober, alcohol only slightly numbing their senses. Harry isn’t sure if it’s because all he had was wine or if he’s finally finding some of his fabled self control. 

Zayn has Harry pinned down on his frankly enormous bed, blazer on the floor, white button down ripped open. Zayn’s already down to his shirt and boxers, their clothes littering the carpet.

“Can you get me off?” Harry asks, nipping at Zayn’s bottom lip as they come briefly up for air, working his pants down the best he can.

Zayn nods, pressing warm lips to Harry’s neck. “You smell like weed.” He whispers against his skin, hands creeping across his torso underneath the thin fabric. 

Harry gasps underneath the touch, holding Zayn close as he ruts his hips up. “I know.”

“Should’ve invited me, I’m always up for a smoke.” He says, holding himself up so Harry’s can’t get any friction.

Harry lets out a sad little whine, sliding his hands between them so he can work himself over. “Don’t be a fucking tease.”

“You love it when I’m a tease.” Zayn replies, but grinds down onto Harry anyway, reaching to tug at his curls just how he likes. 

“It was with Louis. I may have kissed him.” Harry explains once he’s gotten enough breath back, all this touching making him feel frantic, the words falling out of his mouth like marbles. 

“I don’t really want to think about Louis while I’m this hard.” Zayn replies, even though Harry knows he’d have been mad if he didn’t get all the sordid details. He lets Harry suck angry red marks onto his neck, a small laugh escaping the younger boy’s mouth at Zayn’s statement.

“I don’t know, I can’t really say I mind.”

Zayn would roll his eyes if he thought Harry would even notice in the half light. “Of course you don’t. You like twinks.”

Harry sighs brokenly, the conversation taking more brain capacity than he really has available. “Shut up and-” He shudders as he gets just that little bit more friction. “Kiss me you twat.”

Zayn slams their hips together with more force than is really necessary, pulling a soft cry from Harry’s mouth. “I am kissing you.”

Harry pulls at Zayn’s hair with one hand, getting his boxers off with the other. “Kiss me harder.” 

Zayn does, shutting him up with his lips and his tongue and the rolling of his hips. It’s not quite violent, but there’s something desperate about their hands, like their both scrabbling to take what they can from each other before it’s all gone. 

“Suck me off.” Zayn says finally, when both of them are too far gone to think about anything else. And then they’re on the floor and Zayn’s pushing Harry onto his knees and Harry is pulling Zayn’s boxers down and taking him into his mouth.

There are no games, no teasing, just Harry’s tongue and the moans that drip from Zayn’s lips as he fucks into him. Harry takes it, just closing his eyes and letting Zayn take over, not thinking about anything but how good his hands feel, about the weight of it on his tongue and the feeling of Zayn hitting the back of his throat.

Zayn’s close, he can taste him in his mouth, and he pulls off a little bit, getting his hands up to stroke at Zayn’s shaft while he does that trick with his tongue.

Zayn does this thing when he comes, his lips curl slightly up, eyes squeeze shut, hands grip just a little too tight. Harry likes it, the pain of Zayn’s fingers something to feel.

His hips jerk as he lets go, gasping, pulling Harry’s head back until his neck hurts. “I love you.” He whispers as he finishes, with a sort of reverence that makes Harry laugh.

He licks a line of cum from his lips, running a hand across Zayn’s hipbone. “No you don’t.”

Zayn falls to his knees, knocking Harry onto his back and kissing his swollen lips like an apology, his hand working over Harry’s cock. “No I don’t.”

Harry just sighs against his shoulder, arching up into Zayn’s touch, letting the rough movements of his hands send him over the edge. He goes limp on the floor, pulling Zayn back in for another quick kiss, trying to communicate something to him that he doesn’t quite understand himself. 

Zayn is the first one to pull back, getting up slowly and heading into Harry’s bathroom for a wash cloth. Harry stretches out, feeling languid and inconsolably tired. He thinks there was a time when this probably left him feeling satisfied, but right now he just feels kindof screwed up and like he wants to curl up in his covers and never move again.

Zayn comes out of his bathroom in a pair of Harry’s probably dirty sleep pants that don’t quite reach his ankles and holding a washcloth. “I care about you a lot, you know.” He says as he kneels down, running the damp fabric across Harry’s stomach, cleaning him up with gentle fingers. 

Harry nods, squirming a little. “I know.”

Zayn kisses him on the jaw, tossing the cloth in the vague direction of the bathroom. “Good.”

“You’re a good friend.” Harry says, because the air feels a little empty and he wants to fill it with confessions and promises. 

“Sometimes.” Zayn says, slipping his arms underneath Harry’s neck and knees and hoisting him into the air the best he can, even though Harry isn’t all that much smaller than he is. He presses him onto the bed, letting him curl under the rumpled covers. 

“Most times.” Harry replies, holding up the duvet in a wordless invitation for Zayn to climb in. He does, arms curling around Harry’s torso, head tucked against his chest. “You’re okay, right? You’d tell me if you weren’t?”

Zayn looks up, giving Harry another kiss. “Of course. You too, right?”

Harry smiles, holding Zayn just a little bit closer. “I’m always okay.”

“I know.” Zayn replies, snuggling into him.

They just lay there for a while, bodies tangled up in a way that’s more than platonic but less than romantic. It’s just comforting really, a constant reminder that they’re both here and they’re both breathing.

“I started dancing again.” Zayn begins quietly, running his fingers in circles on Harry’s arm. “I missed it.”

Harry tilts his head down, pulling Zayn tight against him. “Why’d you go back?” he asks, because he was there for the breakdown, when Zayn danced with death instead. Harry thinks about it like a tunnel, he and Zayn tugging each other down into the darkness, the dark filling their lungs and dragging them further under. He thinks maybe he’s ready to come up for air for good, thinks that maybe Zayn is too, hopes that they can really find the stars back again.

“Danielle wanted to teach a class, she needed my help.” He could have said no, and they both know it but neither of them say it.

“That’s it?” Harry asks, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Zayn’s head.

There’s a pause where Zayn buries his head in Harry’s chest, a soft lilt to his voice, a weight there that says that maybe his words are important. “There’s this boy.” 

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know. He’s just, I don’t know. Good somehow.”

Harry does a tiny throaty laugh, stroking fingers across Zayn’s shoulderblade. “This one’s different?”

Zayn shrugs, remaining serious. “Yeah. I don’t know. You remember when I messed up, right? You know, with the pills? He found me and I couldn’t figure out how to do anything and he took care of me. And it was just nice. He was just nice.”

“I think this is nice.” Harry replies, and its not that he’s petulant, but Zayn is his and Zayn has always needed him and this is new. He’s not used to other people taking care of Zayn, that’s his job.

“This is nice. But you’re going to leave me Haz. You’re going to pull some fantastic guy and then what am I going to do?”

“You are the fantastic guy.” Harry assures him, pressing another kiss to his messy hair. “I’ll always be here for you Zayn.”

Zayn burrows further underneath Harry’s covers, nuzzling his head into Harry’s shoulder. “No you won’t. That’s okay.”

“Why can’t we be in love, Zayn?” Harry asks, because he isn’t quite sure what love is anymore and he knows this should work, but somehow it just doesn’t. Maybe it’s because they know too much about each other, maybe it’s because they’ll never know quite enough. He just knows there’s a hollow place in his chest where love should go and he doesn’t know if he knows how to fill it.

“Because I know I can’t fix you. Because no part of me makes you better. Love is supposed to make you better.” Zayn says slowly. 

“Do you think that boy could make you better?” Harry asks. 

“Do you think Louis could make you better?” He replies instead of answering.

“I want to make him better.” Harry admits, voice quiet in the dark. “I don’t just want to screw him. I just, I thought he was so awful and terrible but he isn’t. Not really. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore.” 

“Just sleep.” Zayn says softly. “Just sleep with me. You can fix him in the morning.”

Harry nods slowly, closing his eyes and letting himself go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew things are getting fun! :D This one was hard to write at first but wow louis and harry are hot zayn is hot like I’m having a great time.  
> Also warning literally i do no drugs i just eat gold fish (i was eating goldfish when I posted last week and I’m eating a different bag this weeks sigh my life) so yeah if I mortally offend you with my terrible descriptions I’m so sorry


	4. Chapter 4

Louis is hungover. 

There’s a text from Eleanor on his phone, but he hits cancel before reading it, heading down the hall and down the stairs to where his sisters are grouped around the table, scarfing down pancakes with fury. 

He greets them with a tired wave, heading straight for the cabinet, fishing out a mug and clanking it onto the counter. There’s a box of tea bags sitting by the stove and he pulls one out, sticking it at the bottom of his mug and pouring in some still mostly hot water. 

He puts a couple of pancakes on a plate as he waits for the tea to steep, stabbing them with perhaps unnecessary venom as he eats. The truth is he’s really not hungover at all, he’s just really upset with himself, and it’s making him feel like he drowned himself in tequila. 

“You look a bit peaky, love.” His mum says from the doorway, looking positively suburban in her velvet track suit. “Late night? I didn’t notice you come in.”

“Yeah. Stayed out a bit late.” He lies, because it’s easier than explaining the truth. “Should feel better soon.”

“You know I don’t like you drinking.” She says disapprovingly as he mutilates another pancake with his fork.

“Didn’t drink too much, I just feel like shit.” He says, and it’s fairly true.

She purses her lips. “Language.”

“Okay.” He replies, stealing the last three pancakes and pushing past her up to his room. “Fucking shit.” He mutters as he closes the door with perhaps unnecessary force. “Fucking godddamn shit face cunt bitch.”

The thing is, he really isn’t all that mad at Harry for kissing him. He’s upset at himself for following him outside, he’s upset for not pulling away, he’s upset because there’s a part of him that believes Harry when he says all those stupid things. 

It’s just that he’s so earnest, so soft and Louis had wanted to kiss him. He wanted Harry to whisper his beautiful lies and to forget himself on his lips. 

Louis takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. “Gay. You are gay. You are gay and you like boys.” The words sound dangerous in his mouth. They’re terrifying, they make Louis’ skin crawl, but they sound far better than the lies. He thinks maybe somewhere, he’s known they were true for a very long time.

He hates that Harry won’t leave him alone, but somehow he can’t hate Harry. Lately, it seems like the only person he can really hate with all that much success is himself.

 

xx

 

Zayn wakes up before Harry does. His entire body feels sore for no really good reason, and it creaks and moans as he crawls over Harry, feet landing softly on his floor. It’s a shitty day, the cloudy sky washing the color out of the world, and Zayn feels a little bit washed out too, wrung out and achey. He picks up his clothes, pulling one of Harry’s sweatshirts on over his pilfered sleep pants, haphazardly folding his suit and resting it on Harry’s desk as he rifles around for pen and paper. 

 

_Take care of yourself. See you monday. - Z_

 

He sticks the note on Harry’s bedside table where he knows the other boy will see it. It wouldn’t hurt to stay, to let Harry wake up next to him and have breakfast downstairs with his sisters and mum like some parody of a family - single mother, popular sister, fucked up teenager, fucked up teenager’s best friend - but he doesn’t have the energy for that this morning, so he just drops a kiss to the top of Harry’s head and sneaks out.

He’s good at leaving. Leaving is the easy part.

 

xx

 

School on Monday is quiet, which is nice. Zayn has a feeling that might be because he’s giving off weird angry kid vibes, but that’s nothing too out of the ordinary. He’s used to people ignoring him, given his ridiculous awkwardness around anyone that isn’t Harry or affiliated with Harry. He’s pretty sure that if Harry hadn’t latched onto him when they were kids he wouldn’t have any friends at all.

He’s sitting in English, reading over the questions they’re supposed to be doing and not actually doing them. English is actually Zayn’s favorite class, and the only one he actually ever gets around to doing the homework for. Zayn’s smart, he’s just not ‘motivated.’ He knows this because the same phrase has been written on his report cards since 7th grade.

He’s startled out of his mental contemplation of the short story they’re working on when the teacher taps his desk. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

Zayn nods, wondering if this is going to be a standard _you’re understanding the material, but I wish you would participate a little bit more in class_ talk, or if he’s committed some other crime against education. “Sure.”

He follows Mrs. Willis out of the room, ignoring the curious stares that follow him. “You aren’t in trouble, I just have a question for you.” She assures him as they get outside. He raises his eyebrows. _This is new._

“Oh. Okay.” He replies, sticking his hands in his pockets. 

“You know Liam Payne, right?” 

And that is really what he was expecting at all, but he’ll roll with it. “Yeah, I know him.”

She nods like that’s the correct answer. “Well he’s having a little bit of trouble and is looking for a tutor, so I gave him the names of a couple of students I thought could help him out and he picked you. Not that you should feel pressured into doing it, but if you wanted to help him in the library one day a week that would be a great way to get some volunteer hours.”

Zayn’s brain is still pretty caught up in the middle of that sentence. “He picked me?” 

She nods. “That’s not a problem is it?”

“No, no it’s fine.” He replies, wondering why he feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. “I can definitely help him. Wednesday, maybe?”

She smiles, looking pleased with herself. “I think he said he was free then. I’ll talk to him and get back to you tomorrow, alright?”

Zayn nods, following her back into a classroom in a daze. He wants to see Liam, ask him what he’s playing at, who he thinks he is showing up at his dance classes and picking his way into his life, but mostly he wants to touch his hands and thank him, because Liam has seen him at his worst and is still giving him a shot. No one ever gives anyone second changes.

But apparently Liam does.

 

xx

 

Harry is making his way out to lunch, helmet tucked underneath his arm, motorcycle jacket zipped halfway up, when he finds himself being jumped on by a very excited Niall. “Hey mate! You psyched for Friday?!”

Harry loses his helmet in the grass, twisting around and trying to get the surprisingly heavy irishman off of his back without too many casualties. “Why am I excited for Friday this time, Nialler?” He asks, reaching back in an attempt to tickle Niall off of him.

It works, Niall sliding to the ground with an indignant squawk. “You don’t remember?”

Harry shakes his head, helping Niall up and then retrieving his shiny black helmet from the ground. “No I don’t remember. What’s happening? Impromptu trips to France? You’re having the whole school over for fondue? You’ve concocted an intricate plan to get Eleanor Calder in your bed?”

Niall makes a face at him. “No you cock, it’s drag race weekend. Don’t tell me you forgot, we’ve been working on your car for months now.”

Oh. Oh _shit._ “That’s this weekend?” Harry asks, going over the dates in his mind. “Holy shit I totally forgot.”

Niall purses his lips, hip checking Harry so he stumbles. “Damn right you fuckin’ did.”

“Hey, I’ve remembered now, haven’t I?”

“Only after I reminded you.” He replies petulantly, but Harry knows he isn’t upset. 

“Do we know who’s going to show up yet?” Harry asks as they reach his bike, the light blue suzuki he got for his birthday who is the only woman he could ever love. 

“Nothing for sure yet, you know the whole thing is on the DL.” He gets a smug little grin on his face, jumping his eyebrows up and down suggestively. “Think Tommo might be racing though.” 

Harry hits him. “Fuck off, I’m going to lunch.”

“Give me a ride?” Niall asks, batting his eyelashes like some ridiculous coquette. 

“I didn’t bring my spare helmet.” Harry replies, straddling the seat and slipping his own helmet over his head, zipping his riding jacket up to his chin. “But whatever you want, Nialler.”

Niall smiles wickedly, climbing on behind him. “Haz baby, you know I live for danger.”

Harry rolls his eyes, cranking his bike to life. “Don’t we all.”

Niall laughs, that full body thing where he tips his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re such a wanker!”

It’s fairly true.

 

xx

 

It’s only after Zayn gets to the library, his burberry backpack slung over his shoulders, scarf tucked into his peacoat and shoes tapping on the carpet, that he starts to get nervous. Maybe he should have said no, directed Liam to some do-good studious girl who’d probably be much more helpful to him. 

If he left maybe Liam would just give up on him like everybody else. Liam is about three minutes late and sneaking away is starting to sound really tempting. It’s only after he flies through the doorway, uniform rumpled as he skids to a stop, that Zayn feels bad. Liam is a good person and he doesn’t deserve Zayn walking out on him like a twat.

Liam looks around in a panic, relief flooding his face when he spots Zayn leaning up against a bookcase. He jogs over, ignoring the glare of the elderly librarian, a flustered but friendly smile on his face. “Hi, I’m Liam. You know that. Wow, um, sorry I’m late.”

“It’s cool.” Zayn shrugs, detaching himself from the wall and leading Liam over to a quiet corner in the back. The library is half new, half old, and Zayn always chooses the old half, because the new half technically belongs to him. Or, more correctly, his parents. He slips through the tumbledown stacks of old books, through the reference section that smells like crumbling paper and ink to the small niche in the back filled with squishy red arm chairs. 

“I didn’t even know this was back here.” Liam says as he sets his books down on one of the ornate wooden tables. 

“Yeah, most people stay in the new wing. It has computers.” Zayn replies, letting his stuff fall to the wood with a thump. There’s a girl plugged into her laptop in the corner, but other than that they’re pretty much alone, the alcove quiet and peaceful. 

“I like the old part, I think.” Liam says, tracing the patterns on the tables. 

“Me too.” Zayn agrees, sliding his scarf off and unbuttoning his coat. “So what are you having trouble with?”

Liam makes a face, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a flimsy plastic folder, slapping it open on the table. “Everything. I’m totally shit at English.”

Zayn shakes his head, peering over at what Liam is working on. On the top is the worksheet from earlier, with Liam’s signature scribbled at the top and doodles filling the margins, only one question filled in. “Liam?”

“Yeah?” Liam asks, looking a little lost in the sea of paper. 

“You know A Modest Proposal is satire, right?” Zayn asks, stifling a grin. “He’s not actually advocating that they eat the children.”

Liam just stares at him, eyes widening, mouth dropping open the smallest bit. “Oh my god I think I’m an idiot.”

A laugh falls out of Zayn’s mouth before he can stop it. “It’s an honest mistake.”

“How was I supposed to know he was kidding?” Liam asks, looking completely heartbroken about the whole thing.

Zayn shrugs. “It has to do with tone. If an author uses a lot of exaggerated language they’re probably using it to make a point.”

Liam nods slowly. “That makes these questions make a lot more sense.”

Zayn smiles, inexplicably proud of the boy in front of him. “Alright, try number two then.”

Liam nods, starting doggedly in on the unfinished worksheet in his boyish handwriting, chewing on his eraser in between sentences. Zayn just watches him as he works, amused by the determination on his face. If Zayn was half that determined about schoolwork, he might be getting As.

He likes that Liam is sincere, he likes that he doesn’t seem to want to bring up that time in the bathroom, he likes how much Liam tries. It’s incredibly endearing, and Zayn isn’t quite sure what to do with all of those stupid feelings but he kind of likes them.

“You don’t mind just sitting there, do you?” Liam asks once he’s gotten about halfway through. Zayn hasn’t moved to get out the math homework and unfinished econ essay he knows are sitting in his backpack, but its not like he was really planning on doing those anyway. “Don’t you have homework of your own? Like I’m not paying you or anything, you can do you own stuff, I don’t mind.”

Zayn shrugs. “My attitude about homework can generally be summed up in the word no.”

Liam gets a small laugh out of that. “But you’re smart, aren’t you? Like, you get it done.”

Zayn looks at him for a little while, at the earnestness in his eyes. “I’m failing.”

“Oh.” He looks down at his own paper, gets this kind of sadness on his face like he’s disappointed. “But you need a C average to pass, don’t you? You’ll pass?”

“My parents own half this library, mate. They aren’t going to flunk me out. My mum will come in here and throw a fit because my test scores are amazing and obviously the curriculum isn’t utilizing my genius so I’ll leave with a C+ and everyone’s happy.” Zayn bites his lip, feeling a little bit bad for bombarding Liam like that. “Sorry. I don’t normally do that.”

“Zayn.” And it’s an admonishment when he says it, like he expected more and Zayn hasn’t lived up to those expectations. “You’re better than that.”

Zayn shrugs. He wants a cigarette, something to do with his hands. “I’m really not.”

Liam crinkles his brow, but he won’t look away and it’s making Zayn squirm. “Do you know how hard I have to work to get Bs? I wish I was as smart as you, as rich as you, but things aren’t that easy for me. If I don’t do my work I fail, if I do my work I get Cs, and if I pass out on the floor of the bathroom no is going to pick me up and make sure I get home.”

“Shit, Liam.” Zayn says after a moment, the memory stinging. “It’s not like that.”

“Well then what is it like?” 

“I’m a spoiled rich kid who can’t do anything right, I don’t deserve anything I have, and my life is a cakewalk. Is that what you want to hear?” Zayn asks him defensively, only realizing after the fact that he was really truly asking, brown eyes all sad like he’s a lost puppy and not a teenage boy. 

“No, I just want you to stop feeling sorry for yourself because you think you aren’t worth anything. You’re smart and attractive and you’re throwing it away and that’s stupid.”

Zayn didn’t miss that second adjective. “And you’re a good person, and I’m complete crap.”

“I don’t think you’re complete crap.” Liam says softly, gathering up his papers with careful hands, head bowed and shoulders hunched like he’s sorry. “Thankyou for helping me.”

“Liam-” Zayn begins, realizing that somehow he’s messed this up, that he’s hurt Liam’s feelings and that was the last thing he wanted. He’s not going to hurt him again, no one is. 

“Don’t.” Liam cuts him off, unzipping his bright red backpack and sliding his stuff gently back inside like he’s afraid something is going to break. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” 

Liam just shakes his head, shouldering his bag and heading into the maze of the stacks. Zayn hurries after him at a jog, grabbing onto Liam’s blazer and spinning him around so they’re facing each other. “My parents are never home, I don’t deserve my best friend, I was getting better about drugs and drinking but I don’t know if I can anymore, I can’t talk to anyone, I’m a complete disappointment, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with my life.” He looks down at the carpet, feeling suddenly like he might cry. “That’s it. That’s what it’s like.”

There’s a beat of silence before Liam’s backpack hits the ground and his arms circle around Zayn’s shoulders, pulling him into a strong hug. He doesn’t say anything at first, just holds Zayn there, slow breaths and the smell of cologne. 

“You aren’t a disappointment. You just have to try a little harder.” 

Zayn nods, wishing he didn’t feel so close to tears. Liam doesn’t know a damn thing about him, but for some inexplicable reason he cares and that feels like it’s enough. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

He feels like maybe he should let go, that this might be getting weird, but Liam hasn’t pushed him away and no one can see them, so he just holds on tight, lets himself be comforted. “Hey Liam?”

“Yeah?” 

Zayn can feel the vibrations of his voice against his chest. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing.”

But it really is.

 

xx

 

It’s 11:30 and Zayn is chain smoking out on his roof. His house is situated so he can climb out of the tv room window and end up on a flat stretch of shingles underneath the moonlight. He comes out here when he wants to think, when the big house still feels too small.

Tonight, he’s doing his math homework.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad this one is late and short. :(( but the next one is the race and its really long and things get racy (omg thats like the worst pun I’ve ever made) so that’s going to be a joy ride (someone stop me that barely even makes sense) But yeah hope you’re liking it at least, even though its a sappy mess of me having feelings


	5. Chapter 5

The race creeps up on Harry. It seems like Friday is upon him before he knows it, that suddenly he’s standing on the edge of the woods in his motorcycle jacket, because if he gets into a fiery crash, the heavy leather and quilted liner are definitely going to keep him safe. He’s got a helmet, he’ll be fine. 

They’ve already done a few easy races, weeding out the kids who are really just here to have a laugh before the real competition begins. Harry’s getting into the swing of things, the spectators getting spectacularly drunk while he imbibes himself with adrenaline alone. 

Perrie stumbles up to him, a wide grin on her face. “Hey babes, nice car.” She observes, running her fingers across the shiny red exterior of the old volvo he and Niall have refurbished. One of the only rules of the race is that you can’t to spend over 1500 dollars on the car itself, and that repairs can only be aesthetic. In essence, it’s a group of half-drunk teenagers running 1990s sedans into ditches and each other, and it’s beautiful in its simplicity.

Harry used to wonder, back when he was 12 and made Gemma drag him here, back when he still didn’t know what beer tasted like and when this was still Greg’s race, why people didn’t just pay someone to put in a good engine and fix the whole car up with new parts, wondered what stopped them from cheating. It was only after he first entered that it made sense to him. There’s a certain pride in knowing that the car is shit and its up to you to make that shitty car shine and make it win.

It’s a prayer to the merciful gods of 1995 940 Volvo Turbo 4 wheel drive sedans. 

“Think you’ll win this year?” Perrie asks, beer sweating in her hand. He’d gotten second last year, but the guy who beat him went off to college and Harry isn’t going to pretend he’s not hopeful.

“Maybe. I don’t want to get cocky.” He replies, sneaking a look over at the race that’s going on now. Cher and some boy she is aggressively flirting with are doing the bracket board, marking down the competition, racers slowly disappearing as the night goes on. There are three races left and Harry has already done one, beating some junior from the nearby high school whose car ran into a ditch on the second lap. The course isn’t too hard to navigate, a dirt oval that goes all around the lake, but the buzz of alcohol can take out quite a few contenders.

“Well good luck baby. You’ll do great.” She leans in, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Be careful.”

“Always am.” It’s not that unsafe, not really. Most of the prelims only reach 60 miles an hour or so on the straights and even slower on the turns, because even stupid rich kids have common sense. They haven’t lost anyone yet, because even though this is all stupid and illegal, it’s supposed to be fun.

“Good.” She walks off, smile on her face. She’s been happier since she broke it off with Zayn, he notices, her eyes not quite so tired. He admires that about her, that she doesn’t need people, that she can be strong on her own. Harry is different, he can’t quite sleep alone, can’t forget the things people say about him.

Zayn is nowhere to be found and Niall is standing on the grand marshall platform, checkered and green flags in hand, so Harry meanders around, kissing girls on the cheek and winking at boys and conducting the business of being Harry Styles. Everyone is rooting for him this year, his jacket is cute, they missed him at that one party he didn’t make it to. It’s nice to hear.

He spots Louis over by the a white volvo that’s similar enough to his, maybe a few years older. He’s got a red racing suit on, the sleeves tied around his waist so his black tee shirt is visible. Harry can’t tell if he looks like sin or one of the angels.

He wanders over to him, trying to conjure up the right words and coming up blank. He thinks back to the party, to Louis’ face as he looked back and told him that he didn’t want to be friends, that they couldn’t be. Eleanor is missing, as she usually is when they go places together, and Harry wonders if they know how stupid that is, if they think that passes as love.

Louis notices him loitering, blue eyes catching his and he just stares, mouth in a firm line. He’s unforgiving, and it makes Harry want to pull him apart piece by piece and figure out all the little things he keeps inside.

“Hi.” Harry says quietly, because he needs something to say, some reason to be here.

“Hey.” It’s soft, tired like hostility is just too much work.

“Nice car.” Harry continues, working his face into a smile. “Volvo is the way to go this year.”

“Yeah.” Louis looks down at the ground like he can find the right words down there. The silence is loaded, they’ve both got a million things to say but no way to say them. Harry can feel all of his thoughts bottlenecking in his throat, all of them too much and wrong and impossible to get out.

It’s Louis who breaks the silence first, looking up at Harry through his fringe. “Harry?”

There’s something about the way Louis says his name that makes his skin tingle. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Harry nods. “Of course.” Nerves twist in his stomach, because the night is loud but its quiet over here, just Louis and him, and the air feels heavy with something he can’t place.

“Why are you talking to me?” He looks down, digs his hands into his pockets. “I’m kind of awful to you.”

“Maybe I like a challenge.” Harry replies easily, his usual charm pulling through.

“Oh.” And Louis looks almost disappointed by that answer, like he was hoping for something better and Harry feels badly because Louis is a challenge but that’s not why he’s doing this.

“And I mean,” He begins slowly, testing the waters, figuring out where the pieces fit and where they don’t. “You’re just, I like you even though I shouldn’t? You’ve been nothing but shit to me but I like beautiful things and the more I looked at you the more I realized there was more to you than what you let people see and I want to see that.” He ducks his head, flushing pink. “I’m sorry that sounds so weird.”

Louis doesn’t answer for a long moment, the silence stretching so Harry peeks up through his hair to look at the other boy, who’s staring at him with the strangest expression on his face. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Louis walks toward him, blue eyes wide and scared but steady. Louis may be awful and infuriating but he never wavers and Harry wants that, he wants someone to keep him stable when he’s spinning out of control.

“What are you doing?” Harry whispers as Louis stands before him, far enough into his personal space that he can smell the soft scent of his cologne. 

“Something stupid.” Louis replies, leaning up ever so slightly so his lips brush the crease of Harry’s, their hands brushing.

Harry lets out a soft exhale, trying not to just grab Louis and kiss him proper and hard against the hood of the car, tug his hair and touch his skin. “You should do stupid things more often.” Harry says as Louis steps back, looking around to make sure no one is watching. No one is.

Louis shrugs. “Good luck, Harry.”

Harry nods, turning to leave before he does something he’ll regret. “Good luck, Louis.”

Louis nods back, a smile appearing on his face, small but genuine. “Thanks.” 

 

xx

 

Niall can see Eleanor over by one of the coolers, laughing at something one of the kids from Westbrook is saying, eyes shutting as she tips her head back. Color is high on her cheeks and her hair is all windblown and she looks beautiful, like she always does.

There’s a pause in the races, a few spare minutes before the third round starts, and he’s taking full advantage of the break, sitting up on his platform with a case of beer as the party unfolds below him. 

“El! Eleanor!” He calls down, waving until she spots him, a smile breaking over her face.

“Niall!” She calls back, looking pleased that she remembers his name. “You’re so high up!”

He leans out on the wooden railing, hoping it’s stable. “Care to join me?”

The other boy forgotten, she jogs over to where Niall is perched, staring up at him from the dirt. “I’ll fall and crack my head open,” She says, looking at the ladder skeptically. “This looks like a bad idea.”

“Would I put you in danger?” He asks, giving her a crooked grin.

She laughs, placing a tentative hand on a rung and hoisting herself up, slowly at first but gaining confidence.“God I hope not.”

Niall watches her as she ends up on the platform, blouse rippling in the night breeze. “Where’s the boyfriend?”

Her smile seems to fall a few watts. “By his car.”

Niall looks at her closely. “You’re not by his car.”

She steals his beer, taking a long pull, pleasant mood disintegrating around her. “No I’m not by his fucking car.”

Niall backs off, because he knows that Louis doesn’t love her (every fucking person at the party knows) but somehow he’s confused wanting to fuck her and not wanting to hurt her so he just looks down at his feet. “Sorry, it’s not my business.”

She shakes her head, and Niall thinks she might be more drunk that he originally thought. “Its everyone’s business isn’t it? That he’s gay and that he doesn’t love me? That’s everyone’s fucking business isn’t it?”

“You, wait, you think that?” Niall asks because well, yeah, but wasn’t she not supposed to know? It’s like the second he thinks he has her pegged she flies out of reach.

“It’s what everyone else thinks. I don’t know what I think.” She turns away, resting her elbows on the railings. “He might love me. He might.”

Niall comes to stand next to her, looking out over the chaos below. “You deserve more than someone who might love you.”

“Don’t tell me what I deserve.” She replies bitterly, words slurring the smallest bit. “Everyone always says that; wow you could do so much better, I’d be so lucky to have someone like you, no you’re totally pretty, oh you could do better than him why won’t you just break it off.’” She squeezes the wooden rail with her hands, rings pressing into her skin. “I used to love him. Breaking it off means that I loved him for nothing. It means that I have to be alone again because I can’t do better. They only say that stuff to put a bow on the fact that you fucked up. That you couldn’t make it work, that you could make that person love you.”

Niall puts his hands over one of Eleanor’s, wondering why he feels so much like his stomach is turned inside out, why she had to make him care so much. “Everyone deserves someone who is going to love them, that’s not putting a bow on anything. If you loved him then shit, that’s all you can fucking do alright? It’s his own fucking fault if he didn’t love you. You do deserve better. You deserve so much better.”

“I don’t want to love him anymore.” She says softly, letting Niall’s fingers fall between hers as she looks up at him. 

He shrugs, letting a smile fall onto his face. “Then don’t.”

And then she kisses him, and she tastes like lipgloss and beer and he could love her. 

He could love her so much more than he could.

 

xx

 

The thing about when Niall and Eleanor kiss, is that they don’t make sure no one is watching first. And Louis is watching, perched on the pristine white hood of his car, talking to some group of pretty girls who’ve come to wish him good luck. 

He’s not upset. He’s not upset when he looks up and she’s twining her arms around his neck and he’s still not upset when he crushes her against the barrier because he knows what Harry’s lips feel like and he just can’t make himself care.

And that’s the real problem.

He’s fairly sure no one has noticed yet, but they will and then he and El will have to talk about it and he’ll have to ask her why she did it, and if he’s honest he’s terrified of her reply more than of what people will think. He doesn’t want her to think he was using her, or that he was pretending to care.

He wasn’t, it just ended up that way.

“Isn’t that El?” One of the girls asks, following his gaze up to the platform with a confused scrunch to her features.

He shakes his head, trying to look pleasant and unfazed. It’s not too difficult really, because he’s managed to scoop out all of his insides tonight and all he has to do it make the shell look somewhat presentable. “No, I don’t think so.”

The girl cranes her neck, trying to get a better look. “I mean, not that she’d do that, but it looks like her...” 

Louis shrugs, sliding off his car because he doesn’t want to talk about it. “No, I think she was wearing blue tonight.”

She nods, not looking too sure about the whole thing but also like she doesn’t want to argue with him, and for that he’s grateful. “Must be someone else.”

He smiles at her, giving her ponytail a light tug. “Yep. Do you want to get a drink?”

She nods enthusiastically, taking one of his sleeves and pulling him toward the coolers.

It’s really almost too easy.

 

xx

 

“You ready, baby?” Zayn asks, handing Harry his motorcycle helmet with an enormous grin.

“Been ready for weeks.” Harry replies, which is a blatant lie, but sounded charming and debonair in his head.

“You’re not getting nervous, are you?” Zayn teases, taking a swig out whatever shitty alcohol he’s gotten into his red cup. 

“Nah.” Which is also a completely blatant lie, because he’s up against Louis, who has not only been driving like a mad man, but who is also disgustingly lovely. 

Zayn gives him a private half smile like he knows he’s lying. “Second place is still damn respectable.”

Harry nods, reaching out to squeeze Zayn’s hand, familiar bitten nails and nicotine stained fingertips. “Of course.” 

“Just don’t get yourself killed. College wont be any fun without you.” Zayn says, leaning up against the bumper. They’ve had half the school come by in the last 20 minutes, but everyone has cleared out by now, heading to the other side of the race line. Zayn is playing pit crew, which mostly just means standing in a dangerous place and helping Harry put on his helmet. 

“This is supposed to be fun, not deadly.” Harry reminds him, wondering if this is really fun at all. The other races were fun, he liked the spike of adrenaline and the rare pleasure of staying sober as the party devolved around him, but there’s a annoying twist in his stomach now thats making everything a whole lot less enjoyable. “I think I want him to win.”

Zayn gives him a look. “Don’t you dare, I don’t care how pretty his eyes are you can’t give up the race.” He tries for a smile. “Maybe if you win he’ll want you to fuck him.”

Harry shakes his head, kicking a bit of dirt in Zayn’s direction and ignoring his second comment. “I’m not going to let him win, I’m not a fucking idiot. I just, I think he deserves to win.”

“So do you.” Zayn replies, and Harry can tell he’s trying to be annoyed but the look in his eyes is much closer to fond. 

“Yeah, but I win a lot of things.” Harry replies, giving Zayn a smile. “And I think if he wins he might let me kiss him.”

Zayn just lets out a puff of laughter. “You’ve got high hopes, Curly.”

Harry smiles. “What’s the harm in hoping? It’s happened before.”

Zayn swirls the liquid in his cup around. “If you pull this off I might be forced to accept you as my new God.”

“Little known fact, I am the next coming of jesus.” Harry replies, glancing over to where Louis and and his friend, some soccer player named Stan, are suiting up. He looks harried, darkness underneath his eyes and a manic tilt to the smile on his face. Harry doesn’t think Stan has noticed, much less anyone else, and he suddenly wishes he wasn’t sober enough to notice either.

“Crucifixion just doesn’t hold like it used to.” Zayn quips, leaning in to give Harry a quick kiss on the forehead. “Good luck, Jesus, be careful.”

“I will be.” Harry points at the cup in his hand. “You too.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Who are you, my mother?”

“No, I’m your best friend, that’s worse.” Harry reminds him, reaching out to squeeze Zayn’s hand again before he can stop himself. 

“Sure is.” Zayn replies, retreating to the platform where Niall is standing with his megaphone, looking pink cheeked and pleased with everything in the immediate vicinity. “Good luck, Haz!”

Harry gives him a wave, crawling into the front seat of his car, not sure whether or not he wants to crash and burn literally or figuratively.

 

xx

 

The race starts with a shout, with a flash of green and the screech of tires as Harry slams on the gas so hard he can’t think. It continues in the yells of the drunken crowd, the crush of his wheels on the dirt and the quick creep of his speedometer. He can see the back of Louis’ car but he can’t see Louis, not even the outline of him sitting in the seat. He’s so little he can’t even be seen behind the headrest, but Harry can picture him, white knuckles on the steering wheel, face screwed up in the little pout that Harry wants to kiss off of his face.

Harry wonders if he looks the same.

There’s something sad in the air and it doesn’t even feel dangerous, more like he’s weightless as he wrenches his wheel around and skids through the turn after Louis and he thinks he remembers laughing last year, cackling in the front seat as he pushed the pedal down. Sometimes he wishes for all the drugs back, all the skin and the pills, because at least then he would feel some thing more than alright, sometimes.

He envies Zayn and his lack of conviction, because Harry has always cared more, has always wanted to make other people happy and never really known how. And he feels like crying as he presses hard on the gas and he doesn’t want anything but for this to be over. 

He hopes that, whether he wins of loses, Louis will kiss him.

He thinks the winning doesn’t really matter either way.

 

xx

 

Louis is filled with broken glass as his car skitters across the finish line and he comes to a screaming stop and he’s won. He’s got the shards in his stomach and his head and they’re falling onto the floor around him and pricking his fingers but he can’t feel the pain. He can’t feel it. 

He wears the glass filled smile and imagines that his teeth are prickling shards as he bounds onto the dirt and rips his helmet off, holding it high. Eleanor is standing on the edge of the crowd and he meets her eyes, directs his smile at her and smiles wider when she runs over. He thinks in flash that he wants her to be proud of him, that he wants to pretend for a moment that they’re still like they were freshman year. 

But it’s not like that, and he knows she’s guilty when she wraps her arms around his waist and he’s guilty when he kisses her lips, imagines that she’s bleeding red from all the glass stuck to his skin. 

She’s tossed away in the crowd and he looks up and Harry’s looking at him, just staring with those wild green eyes and he’s caught for a moment in that gaze. And Harry is mouthing something, and he can’t tell what, and he’s caught in the tide of people telling him that he’s won like he didn’t know already. 

“What?!” He yells across the melee, vaguely aware of someone trying to pick him up.

“Friends?!” Comes back over, a smile splitting across Harry’s face, eyes so hopeful it makes his whole body hurt. 

Louis pushes through the crowd, jumping up because everyone is so goddamn tall and he can barely see more than glimpses of Harry’s stupid curls. “No!” He yells back, but he thinks he might be lying and he thinks Harry knows.

Harry gives him a thumbs up, just before Zayn scoops him up from behind, swinging him around in a dangerous circle. “Okay!”

And it’s a little bit easier after that, and he isn’t quite sure why, and the broken glass covering his skin falls away in the darkness and he’s just Louis Tomlinson, and he’s filled with organs and stuff instead of the emptiness. It’s a bit better, he thinks. 

The party continues after that, but the win is the climax, and soon people are staggering home or to their cars or calling taxis on the side of the road and he spots Harry by his car, examining the dust on her wheels and the scratches in the red paint. 

He runs over, the air crisp on his bare arms, and he can’t help but feel pleased when Harry looks up and there’s a smile on his face. It’s just a little warmer than his real smile, a little more hopeful, and he wonders if maybe it’s just for him.

“Good race.” Louis says when he comes to a stop, feeling almost presumptuous as Harry looks up at him, his jacket unzipped over a white tee shirt. 

“Sure was.” Harry stands, brushing the dirt off of his tight, tight jeans. “You drive like a crazy person.” And it could be an insult but his eyes are admiring.

“Well we all know I’m a little bit crazy.” And he isn’t sure why he’s doing this, why he’s letting Harry in now, why it’s different than before, but he thinks a lot of it is the fact that he’s stopped caring. Pretending to be something he wasn’t only made him awful, and he thinks he could be less awful with Harry, that Harry has been giving him permission to be something else for weeks and he’s only noticing just now.

“It’s the sane ones I’m worried about.” Harry says, leaning up against his car. 

Louis chances a smile, liking the easy way it falls onto his lips. “Nice car, can’t believe you didn’t crash it.”

For a moment, Harry doesn’t seem to know whether or not he’s teasing, but he figures it out. “There were some thrilling moments, but I’m an expert driver.”

“Oh are you?” Louis asks, giving Harry his best skeptical look. The whole conversation feels like a peace treaty, and it’s so easy, and he wants that. 

“Of course I am!” He pauses, looking over at the car and then back at Louis. “Get in, I’ll show you.”

“Not likely. I won, that means I’m a better driver than you.” Louis says, pulling open the driver door and falling into the front seat. “Get in, loser.”

Harry looks at him in some lovely combination of disbelief and amusement. “That’s my car!”

Louis shrugs, pulling his seatbelt on. “Well then you better hand me the keys, yeah?”

“That’s really not what I meant at all.” Harry replies, but he digs the keys out of his pocket and tosses them to Louis, who jams them into the ignition. “Well get in, then.” He prompts, and smiles when Harry follows his directions, heading around the front and falling into the duct tape covered passenger seat, setting his feet up on the dashboard.

“Where are we going?” He asks, as Louis turns the car on and starts toward the highway.

“Anywhere I want.” Louis replies, turning on the radio.

“That doesn’t really work, it’s stuck on a golden oldies station.” Harry supplies, just as a cheerful male voice plays through the crackling speakers.

“Good thing that’s my favorite genre of music.” Louis says, turing up the volume.

Harry does a rather ridiculous snort laugh, before turning to look at Louis in curiosity. “Wait, are you serious?”

It’s Louis’ turn to laugh. “Of course not, dummy.”

Harry smiles, craning his seat back. “I knew that.”

“Sure you did.”

The heater spits out warm air as they drive out onto the highway, the night dark around them, cars passing in quick blurs of yellow headlights. They’ve driven a good bit in silence, the warm full kind that feels less like quiet and more like safety, and Harry has curled up into a ball in the passenger seat like he’s about to go to sleep, his jacket tossed in the backseat.

Louis turns off at the next exit, because he sees a familiar pair of golden arches and he really really wants french fries. The parking lot is incredibly quiet, as he pulls slowly through the drive through, scrounging a wrinkled dollar bill out from where it’s crumpled in the cupholders. 

Harry is definitely awake, he’s staring at him with those big green eyes, knees pulled up into the seat in a way that probably isn’t road safe. “You hungry?” Louis asks, almost reaching out to touch him but restraining himself.

“Not really.” Harry replies, a whole lot smaller than he usually is. Louis wonders why he feels so fond all of a sudden, how he can suddenly care so much for a person he spent most of his high school life hating. He thinks he must not have truly hated him, not really.

“Alright.” Louis grabs the fries from the drive through window, pulling into a parking space that gives them a good view of the stars sprinkling the sky. “You sure?”

Harry reaches over, nabbing a few fries. “Nope.”

Louis laughs, stuffing one in his mouth. “That’s what I thought.”

Harry sits back in his seat, playing with the bits on the side until he’s got it as far back as it will go. “Do you think I could drive like this?” He asks, reaching his arms out for the dashboard, turning an imaginary steering wheel in his hands.

“Probably not.” Louis replies, getting his own seat as far back as it will go, reaching for the steering wheel and finding that his fingers barely brush.

“I might be able to, I have longer arms than you.” Harry says, sounding inordinately pleased with himself.

“Maybe if you’d driven like this you would have won.” Louis says, setting his wax packet of french fries in the empty cupholder and leaning back in his seat.

“Maybe.” Harry replies, sitting back in his own seat so they’re both staring up at the gray roof of the car, a few sheets of metal and plastic between them and the stars. “You know what I told Zayn?”

Louis shakes his head. “What did you tell him?”

“That if you won I thought you might let me kiss you.” He says, and it sounds a little bit like a question.

“And what did Zayn think about that?” Louis replies instead of an answer, because he can feel fear twisting in his stomach and he’s trying to figure out if it’s the good kind or the bad kind. He thinks it’s the good kind.

“I don’t think he thought you would.” 

Louis takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting the words fall out. “Zayn is a bit not right.”

“Oh.” There’s a quick bit of rustling, and he can feel Harry’s breath on his lips, knows he’s hovering just above him. “Are you going to open your eyes?”

“No.” Louis replies with a quick shake of his head, wishing he could slow his breathing, calm his heartbeat. 

“Okay.” Harry says, like that’s just fine, and then their lips are touching, and it’s not like before, and Louis isn’t quite sure what he was scared of because there’s nothing scary about this. It feels very, very okay.

He pulls back, letting his eyes open, letting his meet Harry’s. 

“You okay?” Harry asks, and Louis nods.

“Sit back in your seat.” Louis says, sitting up and watching as Harry does, looking at Louis with a curious glint in his eyes. It’s fair, as Louis isn’t entirely sure what he’s doing either.

“Lou?” 

“Just sit.” He says, crawling over the console and situating himself so he’s perched on Harry’s lap, looking down at him. “Good?”

Harry nods, and he looks a little overwhelmed, and Louis likes that, that he can overwhelm him. He reaches for Harry’s hands, resting them on his hips. “Are you sure?” Harry asks, and Louis can feel the eagerness of his fingers in how they twitch against his skin. 

Louis nods even though he’s more than a little terrified and excited and he can feel his heart doing little leaping half beats in his chest. “Yeah, yeah I’m sure.” His voice sounds a little thin, but he doesn’t think Harry notices. “I want this.”

Harry nods, leaning up and catching Louis’ lips in his, gentle and soft and so very very careful. Louis kisses him back, his breathing going all funny as he presses his fingers to Harry’s jawline, feeling it under his skin.

Harry’s hands creep slowly up his back, and Louis presses him down against the seat, and he has no idea how to say that he wants Harry to touch him, to get his hands up underneath his shirt and really feel him, so he just kisses harder, threading his fingers back into Harry’s curls and letting them tangle there.

Louis presses his tongue past Harry’s lips, deepens the kiss, pulling at his hair to tell him that it’s okay, that this is okay. He likes the way Harry’s breathing gets all screwed up, the way it hitches when Louis shifts his weight and tugs his hair.

Harry fingers play at the hem of his shirt and Louis shivers into his chest, silently begging him to go under, and making a soft noise of approval when he does, eager fingers finding Louis’ hips and the curve of his back. 

He feels frozen, frantic and lightheaded and it’s all he can do to kiss him, soak in the way Harry is pushing his shirt up his back, trying to map out his skin. He pulls back, taking the hem in his hands and pulling it quickly up and over his head, watching as Harry watches at him, the strangest look in his eyes. 

“There’s no one around, it’s fine.” Louis says, blushing under Harry’s gaze.

Harry just shakes his head, a smile pulling at his lips as he tugs Louis back in. “You’re incredible.” Louis thinks that the look shining in his green eyes might be awe.

Louis doesn’t have a response to that so he just kisses him, because that’s the only way he can communicate this, the way everything but Harry is crumbling around him. He can feel Harry’s hands as they pass over his back, unhindered and gentle as one holds onto his hip, the other coming to brush across the soft skin of his stomach.

He gasps, squeezing his eyes shut and breaking the kiss to bury his face in Harry’s shoulder, wishing he could breathe anything close to properly as Harry’s fingers run below his waistband, palming him through his jeans.

He heaves in unsteady breaths, clutching at Harry as he works him over, rocking into his hands, a bit too far gone to wish he was a little less shameless. He kisses at Harry’s neck, biting soft red marks into his skin when he’s able to think.

There’s a ringing noise that cuts underneath the sound of the radio, slowly worming it’s way into Louis brain, and he summons enough brain power to pull back, sitting on Harry’s lap. 

Harry seems to have the same idea, settling his his hands on Louis’ thighs, his head thrown back against the seat, breathing in short shallow gasps. “That’s my phone.” His voice sounds the smallest bit wrecked, a little bit lower, a little bit rougher.

“You should-” Louis pauses, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling suddenly exposed. “You should pick it up.”

He nods. “It’s uh, it’s in the back, you’re on me?”

Louis nods, leaning into the backseat and finding picking up the heavy motorcycle jacket. “In here?”

Harry nods, taking the jacket from him and digging around in the pocket to find his phone, clearing his throat before picking up, tossing the jacket into the back. “Yeah?”

There’s a pause, where Louis becomes acutely aware of where Harry’s limbs are pressed to his and just how much he still wants to be kissing Harry.

“Yeah mom, I know.” Harry says, staring up at Louis with a kindof half dazed expression, one hand still on his thigh.

“Okay.” A pause. “No I’m not drunk, I’ll be home in a few.”

Louis presses his fingers up underneath Harry’s tee shirt, pleased with the way it makes Harry shiver, his free hand coming up to grab Louis’ wrist and pin it firmly against the window. “I can’t get home by two I’m twenty minutes away.”

Louis moves his free hand to Harry’s chin, trailing his pointer finger down the hollow of his neck. Harry gives him a stern look, reaching down in one swift movement and grabbing the other hand, moving so both of Louis’ wrist are pinned up to the roof of the car. 

“Be good.” He whispers. “No mom, I’m just with friends. We’re eating food. ...Yes at 2 AM. A lot of people eat food at 2 AM.” A pause. “Okay. See you soon mom.”

He ends the call with an aborted sigh, shoving his phone into the cupholder and letting Louis’ hands fall. “Jesus christ, Lou.” He says, even as he’s pulling Louis back into another kiss, his lips hungry.

“Sorry.” Louis replies when they come up for air, even though he’s really, really not.

Harry holds Louis’ face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together. “I have to go home, we can’t, I have to get home.”

“Harry Styles has a curfew, who would have thought.” Louis sneers, a laugh bubbling into his voice

“Louis Tomlinson is a dirty little tease, who would have thought.” Harry shoots back, groaning and pushing Louis away from him. “Seriously if you don’t off of me right now we are never going home.”

Louis sticks out his tongue, reaching for his shirt and pulling it back over his head. “That’s not the best argument you’ve ever come up with, really.” He replies, but flops rather uncoordinatedly back into the driver’s seat. He leans back, trying to get his breathing normal, to get all of his synapses firing right. “Oh god I can’t drive like this.”

“You think I can?!” Harry asks as he pulls his seat back up, and Louis notices with some pleasure that Harry seems to be even harder than he is. 

“No, probably not.” He closes his eyes, pulling his seat into a normal driving position and taking deep breathes. “Okay. Everything is fine.” He twists the key in the ignition, before realizing the car is already on. “Oh god.”

Harry snorts out a laugh. “You’re all flustered. It’s cute.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” Louis replies, picking a lukewarm french fry out of the package and jamming it into his mouth.

“I am.” Harry looks over at him, a soft smile on his lips. “I won’t tell anyone about this. Just so you know. You don’t have to worry.”

Louis nods. “I didn’t worry. But thanks.”

Harry nods back, like he’s hanging off of Louis’ every word. “I want to do this again. I really like you.”

“Oh.” And he thinks there should be some more eloquent response to what Harry is telling him, but he’s turned on and confused and maybe a little bit close to having a full blown gay panic.

“Like it’s okay if you don’t, it’s really okay.” Harry assures him, like he can read the anxiety that’s threatening to break across his face. “I just think you’re amazing.”

“Oh. You, yeah.” I think you’re amazing too. But he can’t say that, can’t ever say all the things he means, so he just nods. “Let’s go home.”

Harry nods, pulling his seatbelt across his body. “Okay.” And he sounds a little disappointed and Louis hates that, because this was amazing and perfect and he doesn’t want Harry to be disappointed. 

He starts out of the parking lot, trying to pull his words together. “I’m sorry about, you know.”

Harry reaches across, pressing a finger quickly to Louis’ lips, that smile on his face like he knows something Louis doesn’t. “It’s okay. I know.”

Louis nods, and before he can think too hard about what he’s doing, he reaches across the console, taking Harry’s hand in his, his palm swallowing up Louis’ smaller one. 

Hands clasped, they drive towards home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooohoo omg you guys that's my favorite bit CAR MAKEOUTS YEAHHHHH I'm so psyched and tired I have to wake up again in like 3 hours but I just went to a Harry and the Potters/Sharpless concert and you should all go check Sharpless out because I'm in serious lesbians with the guitar player singer girl and they're actually great. (this isn't even related I was just excited and I wanted to tell someone about it)
> 
> But yeah hope you're liking this story and fair warning I may get shitty about posting this and maybe miss a week because my As are slowly slipping to not As and I have show choir and Seasonal Affective so I'm a pile of hopelessness so basically we're just going to play it by ear and I'll try not to leave y'all hanging. Thanks so much for kudos and comments, you guys are what dreams are made of. <3


	6. Chapter 6

It’s Sunday afternoon and he can’t stop thinking about that night, about the touch of Harry’s hands and his soft grin, the way he’d looked at him like he was the most amazing thing he’d ever laid eyes on. 

Everything feels a little bit new, like he’s more buoyant but also tied firmly to the Earth where he belongs. 

He meets Eleanor at a coffee shop on Tuesday morning, and she’s wearing that gray knit dress that makes her curves all soft. He doesn’t think he’s ever told her how lovely it looks it on her.

“Is everything okay?” She asks when she sits down with her drink, some chocolately indulgence. “What did you want to talk about?”

“That dress looks nice on you.” He says, because that’s the easy part.

She smiles despite herself, looking down into her cup. “Thanks.”

He takes a deep breath, tracing the edge of the table. “I have something to tell you.”

She cocks her head, and he can see the gears in her head turning, like she’s trying to figure out if he’s breaking up with her, if he knows about the kiss, if there could be something, anything else. “Oh?”

“I saw you kiss him.” He starts, because that’s easy too and that part isn’t his fault. He can blame that crack on her, the other faults in the framework of what they had are his burden alone. 

“Are you mad?” She asks, and he doesn’t think she’s sorry about what she did, and he wonders how they ended up here at all. He hopes that maybe she’s sorry that it came to this point at all. He is.

“No.”

“But you’re breaking up with me.” She confirms, biting at the straw like she does when she’s upset and trying not to show it.

“Well uh. Yeah. I think I might be...” He makes vague hand motions looking everywhere but her face. “Gay. I think I might be gay, El.” He says, because he is not going to let her think this is her fault. 

She nods, prim, proper, falling apart on the edges. “So you lied to me for two years then.” She says it like a fact, not a question.

He shakes his head though technically it’s true. “I lied to myself for two years.” A pause. “And you.”

“And me.” 

“We were good though, weren’t we?” He asks, because she’s not going to erase what they had like that just like it was nothing.

“No.” She says petulantly. “Well, not towards the end.”

He shakes his head. “I was a tit at the end.”

She almost smiles. “You were.”

“But at the beginning,” He prompts, reaching to take her hand. It’s not romantic, just comforting, because even though he doesn’t want her he still likes the way her hands feel familiar. “Remember when I asked you out?”

“November 23rd.” She says, letting him take her hand. “You filled my first hour with balloons and stood there in the middle of the classroom with that stupid grin on your face and a cupcake in your hand.” She’s smiling for real now. “I couldn’t say no.”

“I wanted to impress you.” He says, remembering that he really did love her at the beginning, in the real way that doesn’t have to do with whether or not he likes to kiss boys, and he does still love her, in the way you love someone who’s always been there for you. “I thought you were the prettiest girl in the whole school.” He taps a rhythm on her hand. “You still are.”

“I thought you were really really funny and I liked the way you dressed.” She replies, a rosy flush growing across her cheeks. “I forgot how sweet you used to be.” She looks down at the table, pressing a hand to her lips. “I feel like I’m going to cry but I don’t know why.”

“Yeah, I know.” He says, because if she does he thinks he just might. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t honest with you. Or myself really.”

“I just wish you could have told me.” She says, squeezing his hand. “Before now. I would have supported you, you had to have known that.”

He shrugs, wanting to look down at the table but holding her gaze anyway. She deserves that at least. “I didn’t want to think about it too hard. I thought it could be enough if I just tried hard enough.”

She nods, and she looks sad but not so fragile anymore. “Can I ask you something?”

He nods. “Go for it.”

“How did you figure it out? That you liked boys?” She looks a little embarrassed about it, a blush spreading across the apples of her cheeks. 

He can feel a tiny dusting of pink covering his own cheeks, a certain curly haired boy coming unbidden into his thoughts. “I probably would have figured it out eventually but there was... someone helped me along.” 

“Do I know him?” She’s smiling now, something for which he’s extremely grateful. It’s tentative, fragile like glass, but it feels real.

He nods, looking self consciously at the table, remembering the afternoon he’d spent with El at Starbucks after the punching incident, back when he really had no idea, when he was awful and Harry was a prick he though he hated. “You do.”

“Do you think-” She pauses, resting her cheek on her hand as she looks for the right words. “Do you think you’re going to end up with him?”

He shrugs, trying not to think about the way that idea makes his heart beat harder in his chest. “I don’t know. I think maybe I want to?”

“I’m proud of you.” She says suddenly. “I thought it was me, you know. I thought it was something I did.

“It was never you.” He assures her, because El was always beautiful and wonderful and he was the one who let it fall to shit. “I just had to figure stuff out, I’m sorry I let you think that.”

“You’re forgiven, Boo Bear.” She says, a grin twisting her face as she uses the nickname. 

And things are a little okay, for once.

xx

It’s Wednesday, and Liam is at the library waiting for Zayn. He knows, in that dreadful sort of way, that Zayn isn’t going to show up. He isn’t quite sure what he’s done wrong, except that he thinks it’s probably something terrible and Zayn isn’t ever going to forgive him for it. He thinks that terrible thing might have been caring. 

He flips open his phone, staring at the artificial green background as he waits for an explanation he knows is probably never going to come. He’s not going to text Zayn, he doesn’t want to make an even bigger fool of himself, but he’s not above staring very hard at his name like he can will the other boy to contact him.

It’s a long time before Liam finally gives up, wandering through the stacks and to the back of the library, to the quiet part that Zayn doesn’t own. The part that Zayn likes better. He sits down at their table because it feels familiar, pulling out his work and thumping it onto the mahogany top.

He just wished he didn’t have to care so much about people who never had the decency to care back.

xx

Zayn is standing in the stacks, looking out at Liam, nerves coiling in his chest. He has on a surprisingly clean pair of khakis, his collar is starched extra stiff, and he’s fiddling with his tie for the umpteenth time, trying to get the knot to lay flat. Liam is looking for him, he can tell by the way his eyes are scanning the door, but he can’t be seen behind the enormous shelves.

After what seems like forever, Liam walks away, shouldering his bag with a sigh. Zayn doesn’t follow him, just lets him go.

He thinks later he’s going to regret it, but he can’t make himself move.

He wonders if this would be easier if he were drunk, if he could throw himself around to make Liam love him. Like him. He thinks it probably wouldn’t be.

He doesn’t quite know how to fix that.

xx

Zayn finds himself alone in one of the mirror rooms, lost on the way to Danielle’s class because he can’t do it today, face them or anyone or especially Liam. He’s not even entirely sure why he’s avoiding him except that Liam makes him feel like he has to care and he doesn’t know if he likes that.

He doesn’t mean to start dancing, only intending to finish his math in the clean light of the windowed room, but he has on his favorite sweats and a soft tee shirt and after puzzling through the first page of problems he finds himself standing in front of the mirror.

He straightens his posture, raises his chin high and moves to a crisp first position. He goes to second, remembering how ballet used to make him feel powerful, like he could do anything in the world. He used to love it. He thinks maybe he still could.

He knows his ballet shoes are at the bottom of his dance bag where he left them when he quit all his classes and decided he didn’t need anything anymore. He brought the bag today on a whim, because it felt wrong to go to the dance building without it even after all this time, the place where he’d spent his middle school years perfecting turns in front of these same mirrors. 

He unzips the bag, rummaging around until he finds them, with their shabby soles and broken in black leather. 

He slips off his converse, looking around furtively like someone might catch him as he slides the on the shoes, the elastic snapping against his ankle. He gets up, pointing his toe in front of him for a moment and then doing a careful ronde jambe, admiring his line in the mirror, the point of his foot and the way his body moves. 

He likes hip hop, but ballet was always what pulled him back, the way it made his muscles ache and his body go numb, the way he had to concentrate so hard on the moves he didn’t have to think about his parents or anything else. 

He remembers now, so clearly he wonders how he could have ever forgotten, how when he’s turning he can only think about his mark and the placement of his hands and the rotation of his body. He doesn’t have to think about Liam and his disappointed eyes. He pulls his ipod out of his pocket, heading for the speakers in the corner and putting on that that one Bon Iver song Perrie used to love, marveling in the way the shoes feel on his feet. The molding is a little wrong but it’s comforting somehow, a strange familiarity.

He tries an arabesque, his stiff body moving like he’d forgotten it could. It’s still there, all locked away in muscle memory and he can feel it waiting to leak out. The sun in sinking lower in the sky, the day barely still holding onto its blue, and Zayn dances in the waning sunlight, relearning his body, just a little bit longer, a little bit softer than the one he used to have.

He goes into his first turn, spotting in the mirror as he spins, the motion still so natural. The sun lurks closer and closer to the horizon and he circles around the room with moves he’s half forgotten the names of, complicated french spellings slowly coming back to him, sweat sticking his shirt to his back.

He can feel hunger twisting in his stomach but he doesn’t want to stop so he adds it to his compartment of things that aren’t important and keeps dancing, always dancing until he can’t feel his feet anymore. It’s better that way.

It’s been a while since he danced like this; for hours until it went completely dark outside and it was just him against his own body. He’s getting back into it, remembering what it was like to push himself, push his muscles back how they belong. He’s always been a dancer, with his pointed feet and and perfect posture, he just forgot in the haze of drugs and Harry.

He thinks it’s time he put himself back together, because he remembers how good he used to be, back before he quit his classes, when his blood was clean. He wants that.

He wants to be good again.

xx

The problem is that Louis can’t stop thinking about what he told El, about maybe ending up with Harry like that’s something he could do, like he could keep him and the universe would allow that. The problem is that he came out to his mom, on accident with a rushed confession and she hugged him and said all the usual parent things, but he’s still afraid of the world. 

He scrolls through his contacts and lands on Harry’s number, which he’d ended up with years ago but had never thought he would actually use. He thumbs over the name, sending out a message before he think himself out of it.

8:36 Louis  
 _Hey Harry. It’s Louis._

It’s a barely five minutes before he gets a reply, enough time for Louis to examine the places where his ceiling meets his wall, the blue paint creeping onto white in the corners. Enough time for him to want to rip the blue out of his eyes. Morbid, he’s feeling a little morbid.

8:40 Harry  
 _Louis Tomlinson?_

8:40 Louis  
 _What other Louis would it be??_

He sends it off, half hoping Harry can sense his sarcasm.

 

8:41 Harry  
 _Fair point. Didn’t know you had my number._

8:41 Louis  
 _Never had to use it before._

He wonders what Harry’s doing, if he’s smiling or if his brow is furrowed, what he’s wearing, where he’s sitting. He wonders if he’s happy.

8:42 Harry  
 _Makes sense. x What’s up?_

He pauses, fingers hovering over the keys. If he’s being completely honest, he hasn’t the slightest idea how to answer that. He mostly just wants to see Harry again, wants to get out of his house and feel grounded again. He’s okay when he’s with other people, it’s when he’s alone that he wants to crawl out of his skin.

8:43 Louis  
 _Can u pick me up? ___

8:43 Harry  
 _And take you where?_

8:43 Louis  
 _Anywhere. Somewhere nice._

The next reply takes a minute.

8:45 Harry  
 _I can do that. Put on a coat, meet me at the bottom of your drive._

Louis slides off of his bed, pulling on a clean tee shirt but not bothering to change out of his sweats as he slips his feet into his vans. He gets his leather jacket over his shoulders as he heads down the winding staircase, shirking past his mother.

“Mum I’m going out.”

He looks up from the TV, worry in her eyes. “Where?”

“The library. I need to work on a project for an hour or so, Stan is picking me up.”

She nods slowly, and he wonders if she’s picking up on the fact that he’s lying through his teeth, if she’s going to call him on it. “You know I love you, right baby?”

He sighs, and even though she’d said so about twenty times in the last 3 hours it still makes his chest feel tight. “I know, mom. I love you too.”

She doesn’t look completely placated, but he thinks she’s going to let him off the hook tonight. “Alright. Be back at a reasonable hour. You’ve got class tomorrow.”

“I know.” He gives a halfhearted wave as he leaves, slipping out the front door and down the winding drive. The property is huge, their big white house cresting the enormous lawn. He wonders how a house with so many people in it can feel so empty all the time.

It’s crisp out, fall creeping soundly into the air as he makes his way to the gate, unlocking it and moving to stand by the street. It’s quiet, only one pair of headlights slipping past him as he waits in the darkness. 

Finally, after his nose has gone a bit numb from the chill, he spots a single headlight coming down the road, a low buzzing that grows as the owner comes to a stop in front of him.

“Ready to go, love?” Harry asks by way of greeting, a smile growing across his face. 

Louis surveys the bike, trying not to fixate on the impossibly long line of Harry’s legs, the way his curls are messy from the wind. “Is that safe?”

Harry revs the engine a bit. “Sure it is. Besides, who ever said no to a little danger?”

“The correct response was _Oh don’t worry Louis, I’ll keep you safe, here’s your helmet, this bike is completely not hazardous_.” Louis says dryly, sticking his hands into his fleece lined pocket. “Do I sit behind you?”

“Do you see anywhere else to sit?” Harry asks, amusement evident in his voice as he scoots up.

Louis ignores the comment, swinging his leg over the back and settling in the jumpseat, tentatively putting his feet on the pegs. “This can’t be safe.”

“Trust me, would you? I’ll be careful, we aren’t going on any big roads.” Harry says as Louis gets comfortable. “I’ll get you home safe.”

Louis nods. “What do I hold on to?”

Harry pauses for a moment. “Belt loops. Or like, you can put your hands around my waist. If you want.”

Louis bites his bottom lip, wrapping his arms carefully around Harry’s middle, resting his chest against Harry’s back as the motorcycle rumbles forward beneath them.

“Hold on tight.” Harry says as he speeds up, bringing them around a corner. Louis hooks his chin over Harry’s shoulder, tightening his grip. “We aren’t going far.”

Louis hums softly in response, feeling the world whipping past them, faster and faster as he soaks up Harry’s warmth. It’s terrifying and reckless and he feels like he’s about to fly away but also like he’s immensely grounded, just him and Harry and their pocket in the dark autumn night.

He lets out a soft sigh, and when they stop at a red light, Louis curls his hands under Harry’s jacket, tangling them up with the hem of his tee shirt and holding on tight. It’s almost peaceful, everything muted as they speed past it, lost in the roadnoise and the quick rhythm of Harry’s breathing.

They end up on backroads, gravel crunching under the tires as they leave extravagant houses behind, buildings turning to woods around them. Louis thinks about asking where they’re going, but he can’t be bothered to make his mouth work and he finds he really doesn’t care, that for some stupid reason he’d probably follow Harry almost anywhere.

When they finally stop, they’re in the middle of a forest, the path extending into darkness on either side and a lake glittering though the trees. 

“Was this what you had in mind?” Harry asks with a hopeful lilt to his expression as they get off the bike, stretching out stiff limbs.

“I didn’t really have anything in mind.” Louis says, tucking his hands back into his pockets. “But this is nice. Peaceful.”

Harry nods, leaving his bike on the side of the road, pulling one of Louis’ hands out of his pockets and taking it in his as he leads them down through the trees. His hands are big, all long fingers and enormous palms and they cover Louis’ delicate fingers easily. It’s a kind of physical dissonance that shouldn’t work but makes him feel weirdly secure.

There’s the smallest bit of sand on the edge of the lake, and Harry stops right before it to shuck his shoes and socks, Louis following suit. “You should see it in the summer. It’s gorgeous.”

“Do you come here a lot?” Louis asks, shivering as his feet sink into the cool sand. Harry shrugs, jogging off to a red cooler resting at the foot of a tree, flipping off the top and pulling out an armful of blankets. “Sometimes. When I want to be alone.”

“Oh.” The words feel heavy, like Harry’s letting him into his own private world. He doesn’t quite know what he’s done to deserve that and he’s fairly sure he hasn’t. 

Harry spreads the blankets out on the sand, sitting down in the center of the pile and wrapping a red quilt about his shoulders. “Sit by me.”

Louis nods, sinking onto the blankets and curling up against Harry’s side before he can think too hard about it. Harry is warm, he smells like detergent and expensive cologne and also like calm, like comfort and safety.

“I came out to my mom tonight.” His voice is steadier than he thought it would be.

Harry looks down at him, surprise coloring his gaze. “Already?”

Louis shrugs, settling into Harry’s arms. “What was the use in dragging it out?”

Harry nods, pulling the blanket snugger around them. “It took three years for me to come out to my parents.”

Louis looks up at him, really looks, studying the hard line of Harry’s jaw as he stares out onto the rippling water. It had always seemed to him that Harry’d had his shit together, charm, charisma, someone to hold his hand. He wonders if maybe people think that about him too, if everyone always seems a bit better off than they are.

“Why?”

Harry tucks his head close to Louis’. “I didn’t need another reason for them to want to kick me out. I still don’t think my Dad understands to be honest.”

“I always kinda thought you had it easier.” Louis says, staring out at the surface of the lake, at the shiny ripples painted silver by the crescent moon. Stars prick out of the blackness, surprisingly bright. “I’m sorry I was so awful to you.”

Harry shakes his head, pressing a soft kiss to Louis’ hair. “Forgiven. I knew why you were doing it.”

Louis sighs, a tight kind of fear in his chest. “Pretty sure everyone did.”

Harry lets out of small puff of laughter that rumbles through his chest. “You are a bit camp, Love.”

Louis buries his head in Harry’s chest, starting when he hears the low thump of his heartbeat. “I’m still sorry. It was shit of me.”

“Well I mean, I did punch you in the face.”

“I might have deserved that, though the gay comment was a bit out of line.” Louis says, a warm feeling growing in his chest for reasons he can’t begin to explain.

“Fair.” Harry replies. “Though I was right.”

Louis nudges him with his shoulder. “Don’t push people out of the closet who don’t want to be pushed out of the closet.” Though he’s almost glad Harry did it, no matter how afraid it used to make him. 

“Noted.” Harry says, going to grab his hand again, their fingers intwining in a way that’s starting to feel familiar. “You’re a bit lovely, you know that, right?”

“Oh.” His head is starting to swim, he can feel all the places where Harry is touching him, the brush of his forefinger as he takes it up and down the back of Louis’ palm. “I used to think you were making fun of me when you would say shit like that.”

Harry looks confused. “Why would I be making fun of you?”

Louis shrugs, not entirely sure himself. “I just didn’t think you could actually be serious. About liking me. I don’t know.”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “You say a lot of stupid shit, you know that?”

Louis knocks their shoulders together. “Thanks Haz, I’m really flattered.”

“I’m serious. You’re the thickest person I’ve ever met.” Harry continues, a laugh creeping into his tone as he looks over at Louis, his eyes sparkling like he’s just asking to be tackled to the ground.

“That’s really rich coming from you, Styles.” Louis replies, pushing him a little so he nearly tips into the sand. 

Harry barks out a laugh, batting at him like a kitten. “Oh we’re using surnames now? Are you trying to intimidate me?”

Louis gives him a look that somehow ends up a little dirtier than he intends it, crossing him arms and trying to look superior. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe I would.” Harry says, and there’s a hunger in his eyes that wasn’t there before, like it’s not quite a joke anymore. Louis thinks he might be ready for this, for letting himself feel all the things he was too afraid to feel before.

“Well that’s settled then.” Louis says, pushing Harry quickly onto his back so his curls end up in the sand, the blankets tangled around them as Louis catches his lips. He doesn’t give Harry time to respond, just kisses him like his life depends on it, cold lips warming each other up, half numb hands in each other’s hair.

Louis doesn’t even feel guilty for a moment, just incredibly at ease as he settles over Harry, their legs slotting together. It’s so quiet, just the soft lap of water and the rustling of the trees and Harry’s quick breathing. It’s more innocent than last time, and Louis wants him just as bad but it’s chilly and his limbs are all tired and he finds himself kissing Harry slower and slower, their mouths losing their frantic edge. 

It feels less like they’re racing to consume as much of each other as they can and more like they have all the time in the world.

Harry’s hands creep underneath his jacket, freezing fingers pressing against his warm skin and Louis gasps against his mouth, trying to wriggle further away from the touch and only ending up closer to Harry. “That’s cold.” Louis whispers against Harry’s mouth, his lips tingling.

“Sorry.” Harry replies, his smile so wide Louis isn’t quite sure how it fits on his face. 

“You aren’t.” Louis says, reaching up to wrap his own frigid fingers around Harry’s neck, a smile alighting on his face when Harry lets out a soft yelp and tries to bury himself in his coat.

“Well I am a little.” Harry says, but he doesn’t move his hands and neither does Louis. Their fingers don’t feel as cold now; they’re warming each other up. “It’s getting kinda brisk out.”

“A little.” Louis agrees, shivering even as he says it. “You know, just a bit.”

“Seems a shame to go home so soon.” Harry says, a cheeky grin working its way onto his face. “Maybe you could come back to mine?”

Louis gives him a stern look, bumping their noses together. “What kind of girl do you think I am Harry? I don’t fuck on the first date.”

Harry blushes. “I just meant like, sleep. Or movies. I wouldn’t, not unless you-”

Louis cuts him off with a kiss. “My mom is expecting me home. And it’s a school night.”

“Ah.” Harry smiles, pushing both of them into a sitting position and fiddling with his hair. “So hold on, this is a date then?”

“I said no such thing.” Louis replies, standing up and brushing himself off. 

“You kinda did.” Harry replies, looking extremely pleased with himself as he gathers up the blankets, shaking the sand off. 

“Shut up.”

“Make me.” Harry says, sneaking a furtive look at Louis like he wants to see how he’ll react, likes winding Louis up. 

Louis cocks a hip out. “Don’t get fresh with me, Styles.”

“Ooh we’re back on a last name basis.” Harry says, a stupid grin on his face as he shuts the cooler, heading back over to Louis. 

“You just want a reaction from me, don’t you?” Louis says, striding forward and grabbing Harry by the collar, a sneaky little smile working its way across his face. “You’re such a little shit.”

“Guilty.” Harry replies easily, letting Louis tug him down into a kiss. 

“That’s all you’re getting.” Louis says after Harry tries to get his tongue into Louis’ mouth. “You can wait.”

“You’re killing me, baby!” Harry says as he follows Louis back up to the road. 

“It’s part of my charm.” Louis says, blowing Harry a kiss as he waits for the other boy to get on the bike. Being with Harry is like taking care of a needy, curly haired kitten with a stupid, stupid grin and Louis knows he shouldn’t feel so smitten but he really can’t help it.

Harry gives him the most sincere smile he’s ever seen as he zips up his coat, pulls on a pair of riding gloves and brings the motorcycle to life. “Ready?”

“Yep.” Louis replies easy, clambering onto the jump seat and threading his arms around Harry’s waist like they belong there.

Harry presses forward on the gas, slowly like he doesn’t really want to go. 

Louis presses a kiss to the back of Harry’s neck because that’s something he can do now. It’s a little bit amazing, that he’s allowed to touch him. 

“You’re taking me home, right?” Louis asks, hooking his chin over Harry’s shoulder as they coast through the woods, stars pricking through the tops of the trees. 

“Yes?” Harry replies. “Unless you want to go somewhere else.”

“No.” Louis replies, tightening his hold around Harry’s waist. “Home is good.”

Harry doesn’t reply, just speeds up as the forest dissolves around them, and Louis rests his head against Harry’s back, in the place between his shoulder blades. The leather is buttery against his skin and he feels safe all of a sudden, even though he’s fairly sure that if they crashed it would be fiery and terrible.

They’re at Louis’ house before Louis is really ready to leave, his neighborhood an unwelcome substitute for the tree lined backroads. 

“We’re here, Lou.” Harry says when he doesn’t move, reaching down to pull Louis’ hands from around his waist. 

“Yeah I know.” Louis releases Harry’s hands, climbing off the bike with minimal coordination. “I just wanted to stay with you a little longer.” He’s surprised how easy it to say those sorts of things, the way soft endearments fall off his tongue. He thinks part of it is the way Harry reacts when he says them, his eyes lighting up like Louis is the most important thing in his world.

“Now you know how I feel.” Harry says, his curls a mess atop his head, the wind tangling them into his face. 

“You know your hair is a disaster, yeah?” Louis says, unable to keep a smile off his face at Harry’s bedraggled state.

“Well not all of us could use my back as a buffer.” Harry says, aggressively shaking out his mop of curls and whipping them off to the side. 

“Excuses, excuses.” Louis says, reaching out to brush a stray curl across his forehead with chilly hands.

Harry smiles, reaching out to Louis. “C’mere.”

“Yeah?” Louis steps back into Harry’s space, letting the other boy tuck his hands into Louis’ pockets.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry says after a long moment, his voice wavering the smallest bit like he’s nervous.

Louis nods, trying to calm the twist of apprehension and near-terror bunching in his stomach. “Sure.”

Harry pulls his lips into his mouth for a moment, like he’s arranging his thoughts. “You know how I feel about you, right?”

Louis shrugs, hiding his face in the collar of his coat and trying to fight the pounding of his heart. He thinks he does, but he wants to hear Harry say it, wants to know for sure. “Kinda.”

“Well I like you. A lot.” He smiles when he says the words, like they make him happy. “And I think you’re special and different than I thought you were at the beginning and you always, always surprise me. I like the way you act when you think no one is looking and I like that you can act that way around me.” He’s blushing as Louis pushes his hands into his pockets too, tangling their fingers together.

“I like you too.” Louis squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he could just not be afraid of people knowing how he feels, who he loves. He can’t let his fear ruin Harry, he has to tell him because somehow Harry has become important. “I like the way you look at me, I like the way you care when you don’t have to, and I like being with you.” He smiles, a teasing glint comes to his eyes and he feels like his whole body is shaking. “Even though you’re needy and annoying and your hair is stupid.”

“My hair isn’t stupid.” Harry protests, pushing his bottom lip out.

Louis shuts him up with a quick kiss. “Unbearably stupid. It’s endearing.”

“Thanks.” 

“You’re very welcome.” Louis says, straightening with a smile.

Harry’s squeezes Louis’ hands, looking down at the ground. “I want to be your boyfriend. Your really proper boyfriend.”

Louis opens his mouth to respond, hoping that maybe words will fall out if he just starts talking, but Harry cuts him off. “And I know we haven’t liked each other for that long but I just want to try it. Because I think it could work between us. I want to make it work.”

Louis nods slowly. “I- I don’t know if I-” He looks down at his shoes, because he can’t think when he meets Harry’s eyes. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

“Oh.” Louis looks up at him, dismayed to find a defeated tilt to his shoulders and a look on his face that couldn’t quite find its way to agreeable. “Yeah, I understand.”

“No, Haz, shit.” He shakes his fringe, trying to get his brain back in order because he doesn’t just want Harry to understand, he wants Harry to pet his hair and say that it’s okay and really truly mean it. He thinks Harry is a little too broken for that. “Let me explain myself first. I do want to be your boyfriend. I want to go on dates with you and kiss you and all that stuff but I’m scared as hell too. I ruined the last relationship I was in and I don’t want to ruin this too.”

Harry nods. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” But he sounds so disappointed that Louis can’t bear it. “I know what being scared is like.”

“I just need time to sort myself out.” Louis says, hating himself even as he says it, even as he knows it’s true. He tries to pull the conversation back to upbeat. “I’ve only been gay for what, three weeks now? A bit soon for a real boyfriend I think.”

Harry nods, and tries to draw his hands out of Louis’ pockets like maybe he thinks they aren’t allowed there anymore. “It’s okay.” He keeps saying that, like the more he says it the more it’ll be okay. “Just don’t go falling in love with anyone else, alright?” 

Louis nods mutely for a long moment, holding tight to Harry’s hands in his pockets. “Not sure I could.”

“Me neither.” Harry says, then, “Can I have my hands back, please?”

“Yeah, of course.” Louis says, letting them go. He has the overwhelming feeling that he’s making an awful decision but he doesn’t know how to stop it now, can only watch as Harry wraps his hands around the handle bars.

“Harry?” He gets out finally, after they’ve been looking at each other for almost too long, like long distance relatives at a funeral. He wonders what died. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I-” He begins, bringing his hands out of his pockets to make vague explanatory gestures. “I’m going to-” He gives up, cupping Harry’s face in his hands and pressing their lips for a few seconds that don’t last long enough.

Louis pulls back, wishing he could communicate more than that, wishes he wasn’t so out of words, wondering where the warm fond feeling he’d had in his chest only a few minutes ago had gone off to.

“I’ll see you at school, Louis.” Harry says finally, revving the engine to life. 

Louis nods. “Don’t fall in love with anyone else, alright?”

Harry attempts a smile, parroting Louis’ words back at him. “Not sure I could.”

As Louis watches Harry disappear into the darkness he hopes it’s a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm in Wisconsin right now I got my friend robin to post this draft so lol hope this works.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I didn't post this earlier omg I'm procrastinating fan fiction now this is a new low. I have yet to proofread this so like if there are any flagrant abuses of the English language I apologize I'm going to read it over again right now but ya know

Harry is sitting on the floor of the dance studio pretending he isn’t brooding in the hope that Zayn will notice how much he is most certainly not brooding and take pity on him. Zayn is working on a turn Harry has forgotten the name of and is really not paying all the much attention to him.

“Zayn, you’re a really crap distraction, you know that?” Harry says, throwing a chip at him from his place on the floor, sliding down the mirror until his neck is at an odd angle.

Zayn doesn’t reply for a moment, fixing his hair in the mirror before leaning to stretch out his hamstrings. “I didn’t ask you to come, you know. This was your decision.”

“I know.” Harry tips himself over so he’s laying on his side, staring up at Zayn from the floor. “But you’re like, my only friend and I’m sad.”

“Harry I told you if you came you had to be quiet.” Zayn says, but Harry knows he’ll come around. “I can’t go back to class if I haven’t perfected the basics.”

Harry looks up at him in surprise, shifting so he’s almost in a sitting position, his own personal angsting temporarily forgotten. “You’re going back to class?”

Zayn looks at the floor, suddenly shy like he hadn’t quite meant to let that bit slip. “I was thinking about it, yeah.”

Harry smiles, a bubble of genuine happiness growing in his chest. “That’s really good.” He reaches up a hand, and Zayn crouches down to take it. “Proud of you, Malik.”

“Thanks mum.” Zayn says, giving Harry’s fingers a squeeze. 

“You never could take a compliment.” Harry says, making a face at him.

Zayn smiles despite himself, sitting down on the floor, crossing his legs, and resting his elbows on his knees. “You never could sleep alone.”

“Touché.” Harry responds, crossing his legs so his knees are pressed against Zayn’s. “I took Louis to my place. The lake place.” 

Zayn raises his eyebrows, and Harry can’t tell if he’s pleased or surprised or something in between. “You didn’t take me there for years.” 

“Jealous?” Harry asks, playing with Zayn’s hands; nicotine stained, bitten nails and long tanned fingers.

“Nah.” Zayn leans forward, knocking their foreheads together. “Happy for you actually. Does he know?”

“Know what?” Harry asks, and Zayn looks so pleased with him that he almost doesn’t want to tell him how that night ended, with a kiss that burned his mouth and promises Louis couldn’t keep. 

“That you’re in love with him.” Zayn says in that simple way he has, the truth diluted on his lips. 

“I don’t know if I’d say that.” Harry says, because love is a big terrifying word and he isn’t sure if he’s ever been in love before and he’s not sure what it’s supposed to feel like or if he’s ready for it. He thinks it might be the fondness in Louis’ eyes lately when he thinks Harry can’t see, the way Louis’ mouth tastes, the way Louis makes everything good again. He isn’t sure, but he wants to find out.

“But it’s true.” Zayn confirms, looking at him like he knows all of Harry’s secrets, because at this point he does.

Harry shrugs, an annoying cocktail of sadness and hope whirling around his stomach. “I asked him to be my boyfriend and he said yes. And then no. I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Not everyone is as fearless as you are, babe. Give him time.” Zayn says sagely, still wearing that same familiar smile like he’s so much wiser than Harry will ever be. 

“I just thought if I got him to like me it’d be easy.” He replies, because he can’t give up on Louis but it would be so much simpler if he could.

Zayn shakes his head. “The liking you isn’t the hard part, Haz.”

“I suppose.” Harry says, because Zayn is very right and it’s annoying. “I’m going to fight for him, I think.”

“Yeah you fucking will.” Zayn says decisively. “I’m not going to let you fuck this up, not after all this pining.”

“You’re one to talk about pining.” Harry grumbles, and Zayn’s shoulders slump a little. 

“I’ve been ignoring him actually.” Zayn says quietly. “Or, you know, hiding.”

“Zayn.” Harry purses his lips. “You’re a bloody fucking hypocrite.” 

“I’m not!” He protests, but he’s blushing as much as he ever does, a tiny flush of redness on the apples of his cheeks. “It’s just, I think I hurt his feelings.”

“Oh my god, are you five?” Harry asks, shoving Zayn back a little. “Say you’re sorry and hug it out. What did you do?”

“I said some things, he said some things, I stopped showing up to tutor him and have been avoiding Danielle’s class like the plague. It’s nothing personal, he just makes me feel guilty about stuff.” It comes out much less debonair than Harry thinks Zayn intended it to. 

“Guilty about stuff? Zayn you’re a human receptacle of guilt and personal pity all the time.” Zayn is great at giving advice, he’s great at being a friend and loving Harry when he’s ready to give up on himself, but he also makes extraordinarily bad decisions for someone so smart. 

“I just feel like I have to prove myself to him and he’s all good and I’m all weird and emotional.” Zayn says, and Harry understands suddenly that he actually believes everything he’s saying, that somehow he’s convinced himself that he’s not good enough for Liam and is therefore sabotaging his chances.

“Well first, you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone. You’re amazing just the way you are, even if you are weird and emotional. I’m also weird and emotional. I like to think that they’re endearing traits.” Harry says.

“I guess.” Zayn says quietly, holding onto Harry’s hand tighter than he really needs to.

“No, don’t guess at me. I’ve known you at much worse than Liam has and I still love you to death. He will too, or I’ll kill him.” 

“Don’t kill him.” Zayn says, looking for a moment like he thinks Harry actually would. Harry is pretty positive that if anyone hurt Zayn badly enough, he could do it, though he’d prefer that it weren’t necessary. 

“Well then fix things with him so I don’t have to.” Harry says smugly.

“It’s not that simple.” Zayn replies, looking abruptly downcast.

“Hey.” Harry says softly, ticking Zayn’s chin up with his pointer finger. “Yes it is. You can do this.”

Harry leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Zayn’s lips. It feels strange, his lips are fuller than Louis’, and he smells like hair products and smoke when Harry gets close to him. It’s a familiar smell, so much a part of who he is that it almost makes him choke, but kissing him feels strange in a way it’s never felt before.

“Harry?” Zayn begins uncertainly when they part, running a hand through his wrecked hair. “We shouldn’t.”

Harry feels disappointment and a sharp rush of fear, has the sudden urge to grab onto Zayn’s forearms and never let him go. 

“It doesn’t feel right,” Zayn continues, “If you love Louis.”

“I love you too.” Harry says, but Zayn is right. He thinks in the never ending process of Zayn And Harry Put Their Lives Back Together, eliminating the weird best friend casual sex might be a checkpoint they need to reach. “I mean,” he concedes, “We either had to get married or stop, and you’d make a lousy wife.”

“I’d make a great wife.” Zayn says, his voice teasing. “I can make macaroni like nobody’s business.”

“Liam would be lucky to have such a chef.” Harry says, bouncing his nose against Zayn’s. “That’s still fair game, right?”

Zayn nods, a smile pulling at his mouth as he bumps his nose back against Harry’s. “You can have all the eskimo kisses you want, Haz.”

“Good.” Harry replies, scooting to tuck himself into Zayn’s side so they can see themselves in the mirror. Their reflections look different than he remembers them, his hair is messier but shinier than it used to be, his eyes less dull. 

Breathing in the warm smell of Zayn, hope floating in his heart, he feels suddenly lucky.

He’s missed that feeling.

 

xx

 

Louis is walking out to his car when he passes Harry’s motorcycle and feels bad for reasons he doesn’t want to think about. He’s been doing too much of that lately, that thinking thing, and he’s getting fairly tired of it. 

He’s decided that against his better judgement he does like Harry. He really really likes Harry and wants to kiss his face more than a little and maybe even be his boyfriend. He hasn’t seen him since that night, and he’s beginning to wonder if Harry even fucking goes to school, because while Brixton is pretty big it’s kind of ridiculous that he doesn’t even see him in the hallways. 

At one point he’s pretty sure that fact made him happy, but now it just adds to the whirling pool of confusion at the bottom of his stomach. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” The voice is unfamiliar, and accompanied by the curl of cigarette smoke and Louis whirls, finding Zayn standing nonchalantly behind him. 

“Hi.” Louis says, giving him a tiny wave. He used to hate Zayn too, he remembers, a side-effect of his dislike for Harry. 

“Any reason you’re staring at Harry’s bike like it’s personally offending you?” He asks, raising his cigarette to his lips and taking a slow drag. His normally quiffed hair is a mess about his head, the blonde mixed in with the black, and he looks inexplicably sad. Louis never looked at him long enough to notice the sadness before. 

“None I can explain.” Louis replies honestly, because pretending is getting harder and harder for him. He feels empty again, like he scooped out who he used to be but hasn’t filled himself up with who he is yet.

“Cryptic, I approve.” Zayn replies, giving him a wan smile. “You seem significantly less bitchy than I remember.”

Louis gives him a look. “Uh, thanks?”

Zayn smiles. “There it is, I missed the bitchy.”

“You did not miss the bitchy.” Louis replies. “The bitchy is the reason your dumb friend punched me in the face.”

For a moment Louis thinks Zayn might actually laugh. “It’s also the reason my dumb friend is pretty much in love with you.”

“Would you really say he’s in love with me though? He barely even knows me.” Louis replies, trying to ignore the way his heart thumps faster in his chest. He tamps down the urge to bother Zayn exactly on the nature of Harry’s feelings and secrets until Zayn hates him.

Zayn shrugs. “I think he could be.” He holds his cigarette in his lips, zipping up his jacket. “I’m rooting for you two, even though you are kind of a dick.”

“Me too.” Louis replies, shoving his hands into his pockets and trying to ignore how happy it makes him to hear those words.

“Zayn? Louis?” It’s Harry, coming to a stop behind them, confusion furrowing his brow. 

“Hey, Haz.” Zayn says, hiking his backpack higher onto his shoulder and tapping ash out onto the sidewalk. “Just talking to your boyfriend.”

Harry’s eyes widen, moving to Louis likes he’s afraid the other boy is going to protest. “You know he isn’t.”

Zayn shrugs again, shooting Louis an encouraging smile. “I don’t know anything.” He throws the butt to the pavement, crushing the ember with the bottom of his expensive shoes. “See you two later, I have a shit ton of Chem to do.”

“Since when do you do your Chem?” Harry asks, a disbelieving smile working its way across his mouth.

“You know when.” Zayn replies, earning a full on smile from Harry, and Louis suddenly appreciates their friendship in a way he hadn’t before. Stan is great as best friends go, he’s always down for FIFA or pizza, but Louis never talked to him about El and he’s fairly sure Stan thinks he still hates Harry. He kind of wishes he had his own Zayn, someone who would kiss him and listen.

“So are we talking then?” Harry asks, looking down like he’s nervous. 

“We weren’t ever not talking.” Louis replies. “I never see you.”

“Well I was hiding from you a little. Maybe.” Harry sighs, a reluctant smile on his face. “I was trying to give you space. I might have also been being cowardly.”

“I forgive you as long as you forgive me for needing to take things slow sometimes.” Louis responds, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him, run his fingers across the pink of his cheeks and curl them in his hair. 

Harry shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have tried to make you do something you weren’t ready for. I’m sorry, I’m a little bad with that.”

“Nobody’s perfect.” Louis replies with a smile. “Can you take me to your house so I can kiss you?”

Harry practically beams, his green eyes going all shiny. “I’d take you almost anywhere for you to kiss me.”

Louis smiles. “Maybe we’ll have to go to France next time.”

“Maybe.” He looks down at his motorcycle and frowns. “I don’t have my extra helmet.”

“We didn’t use helmets last time.” 

“Well those were backroads.” Harry says, picking up his helmet, the sleek black one Louis recognizes from the race, and handing it to Louis. “Put it on.”

Louis looks down at it, and then back up at Harry. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine, I’m a good driver.” He winks, then blushes like he regrets it.

Louis smiles, watching as Harry swings his leg over the seat. “I know, I trust you.”

Harry smiles up at him, unsure but warm. “I’m glad.”

 

xx

 

Zayn at least attempts his homework at home before getting back into his car and driving to the coffee shop near his house. It’s always been one of his favorite places for quiet contemplation once the weather got bad and he couldn’t go out on the roof, since it’s warm and smells like coffee and sugar, big purple and green armchairs set up in the back. 

There’s always a bit of live music, some messy haired girl playing Death Cab For Cutie on her acoustic guitar, and it’s incredibly soothing when he doesn’t want to be alone but doesn’t want to hold conversations either.

Zayn orders a medium chai latte, smiling into the big ceramic cup as he walks into the back room with the musician, some guy he was able to hear faintly from the front. He’s really good, and he’s playing an Ed Sheeran song he remembers Harry enthusiastically showing him last year just before everyone had heard of A Team.

He stops short when he sees just who’s playing, someone who at this point he isn’t even sure he’s capable of being surprised by. It’s Liam, a guitar in his arms, his eyes squeezed tight as he picks out the song with nimble fingers. He’s rocking slightly with the rhythm of the music, his voice soothing like a lullaby. Zayn gently sets down his drink because he’s fairly sure he’ll spill all over himself if he doesn’t, not taking his eyes off Liam.

He looks beautiful in the warm light, still in his khakis from school, his button down hanging open, dress shoes exchanged for a pair of scuffed red converse. Zayn thinks he might actually be some kind of beautiful boyish angel.

He finishes the song with a soft little smile, and Zayn finds himself clapping before he can stop himself, a uncharacteristic grin splitting his face. He wonders when smiling became atypical for him.

Liam’s head snaps up at the motion, nearly falling off his stool when he sees Zayn, clutching apologetically at his guitar like he’s terribly sorry for existing. 

“That was lovely.” Zayn says quietly, setting his backpack on the ground by the leg of the nearest armchair. “Play another.”

“Well I’m nervous now.” Liam says quietly.

“Don’t be.” Zayn replies. “If you play for me I’ll buy you a drink.”

Liam scrunches up his nose. “I can buy myself my own drink you know.”

Zayn shrugs his shoulders. “I know, but it’s my way of getting you to stick around and talk to me.”

“Oh.” Liam says, a tentative smile appearing on his face. “You aren’t still ignoring me then?”

Zayn shakes his head, leaning his elbows on the armrest and giving Liam his most sincere smile. “Sorry about that. I had to sort myself out.”

Liam nods. “Not sure why doing that involved ignoring me, but I’ll take it. What should I play?”

“Something pretty.” Zayn replies, rummaging around for his folder. 

Liam nods, starting in with the opening chords of a song Zayn doesn’t recognize, a soft fingerpicking melody. Zayn tries to fight his growing smile as he pulls out his science book, flipping it open and curling his feet up into the chair. 

Liam has a lovely voice, it’s smooth and sweet and it makes Zayn wish he could sing because he wants to sing all the dumb duets in the world with him. He’s trying not to sneak glances, trying not to notice the way Liam’s fingers press into the frets, the soft intakes of breath as he creeps up into his falsetto.

He recognizes the song now, a soft version of Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop, which Zayn thinks is a little presumptuous, but Liam keeps biting his lip during the instrumental bits and he’s blushing a soft pink and it’s just adorable. 

Zayn tries to read, he really does, but he can feel Liam’s presence and it makes it really hard for him to learn much of anything, so in the end he just sits and listens as Liam sings. 

When Liam finishes Zayn’s the only person in the coffee shop who claps but it’s a quiet afternoon and Liam is smiling like he just won something so it’s really okay. “That wasn’t weird, was it?”

Zayn laughs, giving Liam a tentative smile. He wonders if this means that Liam likes him, proper likes him, and he wonders how he managed that one. Maybe he does tragically fucked up dark haired beauty better than he thought. “A little, but it was beautiful.”

Liam ducks his head. “It’s just for fun.”

“Well it’s still beautiful.” He smiles, suddenly filled up with the need to tell Liam all the things he’s done, how far he’s come, how he’s saving himself, but he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t even really think this whole thing is truly because of Liam, but more like Liam made him finally realize how far he’d fallen, how close he was to falling back there.

“Thanks.” Liam says, and his eyes are practically shining in the low orange light and Zayn doesn’t know how he manages that. 

“When are you done?” 

Liam shrugs, picking out a soft riff with his fingers. He’s so incredible in the half light, all ernest and muscular and it’s just not fair. “About twenty minutes?”

Zayn nods. “Well I’ve got some notecards to do, I can wait.”

Liam narrows his eyes at him. “I didn’t think you did your homework.”

“I didn’t.” Zayn says, and he hopes Liam knows that part is because of him. “Play me something pretty?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Liam replies, strumming out a few quiet chords as Zayn digs a pencil out of his backpack, unable to keep the smile off his face.

 

xx

 

Harry takes Louis to his house. It’s just as he remembers it, delightfully victorian and far larger than it needs to be. 

“Home sweet home.” Harry quips as their butler lets them in the front door, taking their jackets and leaving Louis in his loose sweater. It looks a lot less colorful than it does when they have parties, more like something in a museum without the enormous flower arrangements and themed decorations. It’s all eggshell colored walls and dark hardwood, leather chaises and glass topped tables. 

“I always thought your house was cozier than this.” Louis says as Harry kicks off his shoes and leads him through the enormous front room and down into the kitchen. It’s big too and it doesn’t look particularly lived in, no cups in the sink, a single bowl of apples in the middle of the island. 

“It’s not.” Harry replies, reaching up to grab two white mugs from the cabinet. “You want something?”

“Sure.” Louis hops up on the marble countertop, swinging his feet against the cabinets. “Hot chocolate?”

“Green tea for me, but we have both.” Harry swings the kettle over to the sink, filling it up and setting it on the stove. 

“Okay.” Louis replies, looking up at the ceiling high above the heads. The kitchen is two stories high, a trio of windows on the second level letting the tiniest bit of gray light in. He thinks he might be lovely in the summer, all warm and dappled, but now it just feels a little cold. “I don’t know what our parents thought they’d do with this much space.”

Harry shrugs, pulling some tea bags from the top shelf. “I’ve always wondered that. Maybe they thought there would be enough happiness to fill up the house.”

“It just feels empty. No wonder they’re never home.” Louis replies, drawing his fingers across the hard edge of the countertop. “I can’t wait to move out.”

“Where do you want to go?” Harry asks, turning so he’s leaning against the counter across from Louis, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

Louis shrugs. “Chicago maybe, west coast. Not here.”

Harry smiles. “Seattle always seemed nice. Rainy.”

“I love the rain.” Louis smiles. “A tiny apartment in Seattle. Sounds nice.”

“Sounds perfect.” Harry replies, a secret little smile on his face. “We could cover the floor in oriental rugs and eat dinner there. We wouldn’t even need a dining table.”

“Dining tables are for schmucks.” Louis agrees, feeling that familiar warmth from the night Harry took him to the lake, a soft comfort that seems to come with him. “How would we eat, do you know how to cook?”

Harry shrugs, a guilty smile on his face. “I think I can make grilled cheese.”

Louis laughs. “Imagine how tiny our kitchen would be, would we even have an oven?”

“Who needs an oven when you have chinese takeout?” Harry replies. “Besides, I can cook a little bit.”

“Really?” Louis asks, giving him a look.

“Really! Zayn used to force me to make him breakfast. I can do the full eggs, bacon, sausage thing.”

“I’m dubious, I must admit.” Louis replies. 

“I’ll prove it to you.” Harry replies, going to turn off the flame and pouring their drinks. 

“Now? I’m not even hungry.” Louis protests, though the prospect of watching Harry putter around the kitchen does have its merits. 

“Not now.” Harry assures him, handing over his cup of hot cocoa and a spoon to stir it with. “You have to come back if you want breakfast.”

“You’re awful.”

“I’m clever.”

“Kiss me.”

Harry pauses, setting his cup down and crossing the kitchen floor. “Are you going to run away again?”

“Harry.” Louis says, reaching out to touch his face, the feel of his soft skin under his fingertips. 

“I can’t do this if you’re going to. I don’t want to do this if you’re going to leave me.” He places his hands gently on Louis’ hips, like he wants to touch him but doesn’t want to break him. “I haven’t had a real relationship in two years because I’m terrified of getting hurt.”

Louis leans down, pressing their foreheads together. It’s terrifying, commitment is, and Louis honestly doesn’t know if he’s ready for it, but Harry is so beautiful, and he thinks that anyone who can make him feel like this, all strung out and warm inside is worth all that fear. “I don’t want you to be afraid anymore, alright?”

Harry nods, and for a moment Louis thinks he’s going to kiss him but he just threads his arms around Louis’ waist and pulls him down from the counter and into Harry’s arms, his smaller form tucking easily into Harry’s chest. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so safe. “I don’t want you to be afraid either.”

“I’m not.”

Harry smiles, looking down at Louis with bright eyes. “You’re so pretty.”

Louis just smiles, going up on his tip toes and pulling Harry down for a kiss that feels warm and tastes the smallest bit like tea. Louis threads his hands up into Harry’s hair, curling the strands around his fingers and pulling him closer.

Harry smiles against Louis’ mouth, running his hands under the hem of Louis’ sweater, his fingers chilly on Louis’ back. “Why are you always so warm?” Harry murmurs against Louis’ mouth, drawing a laugh from his lips.

“Why are you always so cold?” Louis replies, pressing a quick kiss to Harry’s lips.

Harry smiles, reaching one hand up to brush Louis’ hair out of his face. “Probably so you can warm me up.”

 

xx

 

Liam finishes up around five, just as Zayn has made a big enough dent in his homework that he feels comfortable procrastinating it a bit longer. He orders Liam the biggest hot chocolate he’ll accept, making Liam sit with his stuff and coming back with two blueberry muffins and what is essentially a bowl of cocoa.

“I’m not sure I can drink all that.” Liam says, looking up at him with ill conceived amusement. 

“I have complete faith in you.” Zayn replies easily, curling up in the armchair closest to Liam and peeling the wax paper from the bottom of his muffin.

“I’m so flattered.” Liam replies, his smile sincere and unbroken. Liam smiles like he’s never been hurt before.

“You should be. You’re very good by the way, at singing, guitar too.” Zayn says, because Liam is actually pretty amazing. There’s something soothing about his voice, a warmth to it that fills the coffee shop and floats just over the vibration of guitar strings. 

Liam ducks his head like he does when he’s embarrassed, sneaking a sip of his cocoa. “It’s just for fun, I like singing.”

“Do you write your own music?” Zayn asks.

Liam nods ever so slightly, setting his bowl down and going for his muffin. “Yeah, I’ve written some stuff. I’d always wanted to make an EP but I wouldn’t know how to like, get a recording studio to let me record, you know?”

“I could probably help you, I mean, I know Perrie’s dad is in the music business.” He says because damnit Liam Payne should get everything he’s ever wanted and Zayn wants to help.

Liam shakes his head vehemently, eyes going wide. “You don’t have to do that, it’s just for fun, its not like a serious thing.”

“Why not?”

Liam pauses, muffin halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean why not?”

“Why isn’t it a serious thing? You’re good, like, really good. I think you could make it if you wanted to.” Zayn says, and it’s not even a lie. Maybe he’s a little biased, but he’d buy every song Liam ever made.

“Oh yeah, I’ll just drop out of school and start doing music.” Liam says, but there’s a teasing smile on his face. “It’s not that simple, I don’t have a safety net.”

Zayn shrugs. “I never said that, I just don’t think you should sell yourself short if it’s something you love.”

“Is that how you feel about dancing?” Liam asks. “Like its a part of you and you don’t really feel correctly unless you’re doing it?”

Zayn nods. “That’s exactly how I feel about dancing.”

Liam seems to consider something for a moment. “You’re beautiful when you dance, like objectively.” He seems to be at a loss for words for a moment. “Like, you’re really graceful. You know?”

Zayn smiles, because he knows, remembers. Dancing made him beautiful and it’s going to make him beautiful again. Not in the muscles it gave him but the way it kept his posture straight, kept the smile on his face and never let him fall. “I do know, yeah.”

“Not to change the subject, but do you think you could help me with my English again?” He asks, looking a little sheepish.

Zayn laughs, nodding. “Of course I can. Could we maybe move out of the library?”

“We could use my kitchen.” Liam offers. 

“Well we already know how I feel about your kitchen.” Zayn quips, warming his hands on his mostly finished chai latte. “I’m not like that anymore, just so you know.”

Liam furrows his brow, confusion making him look young. “Like what?”

“Drugged out and stupid.” Zayn shrugs. “Well I usually am a little stupid, but I’m done with the rest of the stuff.”

Liam nods slowly. “You don’t have to lie to me to get me to like you, just so you know.”

Zayn shakes his head, because he’s not a liar, he never has been, not even to himself. “No, it’s not like that at all. I just, I want to be good again and I thought you’d like that better.”

“I do.” Liam says, a small smile falling onto his face even with the worry in his eyes. “But you don’t have to change for me to like you, if you don’t want to.”

And it’s so sweet, but Zayn does have to change for Liam to like him, and he has to change for him to like himself. Being a burnout kept him from feeling too hard, kept him locked away in a glass cage where nothing hurt or helped but he couldn’t take that numbness anymore. “I’m changing for me, Li. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Liam smiles like he’s proud of him, and it makes Zayn’s heart beat a little faster in his chest. “I don’t know, I’d call it the right place at just the right time.”

Zayn smiles. “I guess I’d call it that too.”


	8. Chapter 8

They’re sitting haphazardly on Harry’s bed, Louis sprawled out on his stomach, a piece of pizza hanging from his hand as they watch A Christmas Story even though it’s the end of October. 

“What are you being for Halloween?” Harry asks, poking Louis with a socked foot.

“Wrong holiday Harry, it’s clearly Christmas in here.” Louis replies, taking a bite and trying not to lose the piece of pepperoni that’s dangerously close to falling onto Harry’s bed.

“Shut up, I don’t even know why we’re watching this movie.” Harry replies, even though he’d been calling it a triumph of yuletide comedy only ten minutes earlier. 

“Because I’m adorable and persuasive.” Louis replies easily, rolling over so he’s watching upside down. They’ve been doing this since that night in Harry’s kitchen, meeting up after school and going to each other’s houses, sometimes Louis’ but mostly Harry’s on account of Louis having nosy sisters.

It’s really nice, watching movies, spending time on the internet in each other’s presence or sometimes just talking. It’s surprising how easy it is to just sit and talk with Harry, how much they have in common, how sweet he is. 

“You never answered my question.” Harry prods, kicking at Louis’ legs. Harry is sitting around in nothing but a sweater, boxers, and two mismatched wool socks, which is so silly and endearing that Louis isn’t quite sure if it makes him want to laugh or cry. 

“I don’t know, have you decided?” Louis asks, trying to wedge the pizza in his mouth while laying down, which he thinks is probably a choking hazard. 

“Power rangers maybe? We could get Zayn and Niall to help out. Maybe Liam if Zayn could win him over.” Harry offers. “That could be a laugh.”

“Yeah it’d be a real laugh when you all make me be the pink one.” Louis replies, kicking Harry in the leg.

He frowns, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Mean.”

“El and I were going to be Peter Pan and Wendy.” Louis says. “You messed those plans up a bit.”

Harry shrugs, not looking the least bit sorry. “Maybe I could pull off Wendy, you’re very Peter Pan.”

Louis shakes his head. “No, you’re one of the lost boys.”

“Not Tiger Lily?” He asks, a cheeky grin on his face. “I’d be a beautiful princess.”

“Of course you would.” Louis indulges, sticking the last of his crust in his mouth. “Not sure if the world is ready for Princess Harry Styles. Too much pretty.”

Harry laughs. “Maybe I’ll just be a lost boy then.”

“Very fitting.” Louis replies, reaching out for Harry. “Come sit with me.”

“I am sitting with you.” Harry says, a tiny smile tugging at his lips like he knows what Louis actually wants but can’t quite make himself ask for. He’s getting better, but the words still stick a little in his throat. It’s a learning process.

“No.” Louis says stubbornly, wiggling his fingers at Harry. “Come here.”

Harry crawls down the bedspread, positioning himself so he’s hovering over Louis’ smaller body, propping himself up on his elbows. “Better?”

Louis smiles, curling his hands up into Harry’s hair and pulling him down into a lazy kiss. It’s starting to get dark in Harry’s room, sunset coming earlier and earlier and casting the space in growing shadows. It makes everything look at little bit magical, draped in evening and too soft to see perfectly.

Harry presses him down into the bed, legs slotted against each other, mouth warm and hungry against Louis’. Louis knows Harry’s body now, knows he likes to have fingers in his curls, knows how his lips feel. 

Louis lets Harry sit up, lets Harry pull Louis’ shirt off his body so he’s laid bare on the blankets, fabric rough against his back. There’s a sort of creeping happiness that starts in his chest and ends up in his fingers and he cups Harry’s jaw in his hand, feeling the soft brush of stubble there. 

“You’re so lovely.” Harry says, a little smile on his face as he nods his head into Louis’ touch, green eyes warm like melted candles, sparks shimmering inside. 

Louis smiles, liking the way this has become a little familiar, the slow dance as they kiss and get each other out of their clothes, warm skin and warm lips. “You too.” He says, the words a little easier now. It’s still hard, stupidly hard for him to let his feelings out, but its worth it for the way Harry’s face dimples at the little endearments.

He thinks, somewhere in the deep dark parts of him, that he might love Harry. And it’s terrifying, legitimately the most frightening thing Louis has ever had to face, but its the good kind of fear.

“Absolutely lovely.” Harry says, leaning down to kiss Louis’ neck, one hand keeping Harry from collapsing on top of him, the other running the length of Louis’ side in a way that’s making it hard to breathe.

Louis huffs out a sigh thats trying its best to be steady, his fingers clenching and unclenching in Harry’s hair. They’re so close, near enough that he can feel Harry’s warmth on his skin, smell his fruity shampoo and the boyish detergent smell of his sweater. 

“You okay?” Harry asks, leaving Louis’ neck to press a sweet kiss to his lips, smiling when Louis furrows his brow.

“You don’t always have to ask me that.” Louis says, hooking his leg around Harry’s knee and pursing his lips. “I’m very, very okay.”

Harry shakes his head, curls falling into his face in the best way. “I know, but I want to be careful with you.”

Louis bites his lip, his stomach twisting with want. He shakes his head, pushing Harry into a sitting position and straddling his thighs. “I won’t fall apart on you.”

Harry smiles, a pink flush rising in his cheeks as Louis pulls his sweater over his head. He’s got an expression on his face that’s half boyish excitement and half smugness and he looks so, so beautiful. “No?”

Louis just shakes his head, pushing Harry back and maneuvering them so he has Harry pressed against the headboard, curling his hands into his hair and kissing him, deepening the moment like he can drown in the feeling of his mouth.

Harry lets him, pressing his hands to Louis’ hips, running long fingers around the curve of his bum and his thighs. Louis feels wound up all tight, like he’s scrabbling to breathe and consume all of Harry that he can. He wonders how he spent so much of his life not touching Harry, and wonders how he can ensure that he never has to stop.

Harry reaches down, his fingers finding the buttons of Louis’ jeans, undoing them with fingers that shake and brush against Louis’ stomach. Louis sighs into the touch, letting Harry try and get his pants off even though he isn’t sure he could stop clutching Harry even if he wanted to. 

“Can’t really get you undressed off like this.” Harry says, pulling back with a smile that holds a teasing glint and pressing a kiss to the corner of Louis’ lips. 

“Yeah I know.” Louis says, letting Harry push him back against the blankets with gentle fingers. He can’t really think, caught in a strange orbit where he’s falling towards Harry, spinning closer and closer until he collapses against him. He thinks he’s so close to crashing, doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to leave once he does.

“Do you want me to do it for you?” Harry asks, pausing like he’s afraid to touch Louis, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth like he’s nervous. 

Louis smiles, reaching out to take Harry’s hand. Everything feels a little dim, just lit up by the lamp on Harry’s bedside table and the credits of the movie playing out in the background. “Yeah. Take my clothes off.” He says, a little smirk on his lips.

Harry just stares at him, wide eyed like he’s been caught being naughty. “All of them?” He asks quietly, watching with a detached sort of awe as Louis curls Harry’s fingers around the zipper of his jeans and pulls downward. 

“Take off your shirt.” Louis says, letting go of Harry’s hand and resting his own against his crotch, palming himself through his jeans. He knows how he must look, messy hair, bitten lips, shirt somewhere on the floor, and he knows he should feel vulnerable but all he can feel is want and something like happiness.

Harry nods, barely taking his eyes off him as he pulls the cotton over his head. It’s not the first time Louis has seen him like this, fooling around in the backseats of cars and learning each other’s bodies on their twin beds has become routine, but he still feels that same rush every time their skin touches. He wonders if he’s ever going to be used to it, used to the way Harry makes him feel. 

“Now your pants.” Louis says, voice soft like a whisper because he doesn’t trust it not to break. He’s still touching himself, urgent fingers against the fabric. Harry complies, wriggling out of his pants and pushing them onto the floor, and he keeps looking back at Louis like he’s looking for his permission or maybe just his approval.

“Yeah, yeah good.” He says, slipping his hand under the waistband of his boxers, impatience making him needy. “Get mine.”

Harry nods, crawling up the mattress and pulling Louis jeans down his legs, boxers pulling a bit with them. He smiles up at Louis when he’s done, looking so pleased with himself it hurts a little in the cavity of his heart thats being carved out just for Harry.

“Can I kiss you?” Harry asks in his smallest voice, low and hopeful.

“Please.” Louis replies, reaching a hand up and pulling Harry in as he curls into his arms, the weight of his larger body pressing down on Louis chest. Harry kisses like he’s making promises to Louis’ mouth, moving his lips like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of them. He kisses slow like he’s moving through the dark, soft and careful not to hurt.

It’s a slow burn as the kindling inside Louis’ chest lights and his ribs catch fire and he’s so filled with flames because Harry has always been incendiary in the way that creeps up on you, lighting Louis’ whole heart ablaze from the outside in, so the smoke detectors don’t go off until it's too late. 

“Louis, Louis can I ask you something?” Harry says when they’ve kissed each other breathless and he can feel Harry’s cock pressed against his thigh, their hips rocking in a messy rhythm that is so much but not enough. 

Louis nods, kissing him again and then waiting. 

“Can we, I want to-” He shakes his hair out, cheeks pink and hair messy. “Are you a virgin?”

Louis starts. “Yeah I mean, yeah.” He knows he shouldn’t be embarrassed about it, but there’s something in the way Harry’s looking at him, this strange mixture of fond and amused that makes him blush. “You’re not though.”

Harry shakes his head, sliding down to kiss Louis on the lips again, like maybe he can’t help himself. “Sorry.”

And Louis thinks he knows why Harry is asking, and he has no idea how he feels about that, if that’s something he’s ready for. “Why do you ask?” He prompts, because he wants to hear Harry say it, wants to know for sure.

It’s Harry’s turn to blush, ducking his head into Louis’ neck. “You know.”

“I think maybe...” He says, and he wishes he wasn’t so drunk on the feeling of Harry’s skin, if he could think about more than the way Harry’s body feels and how much he wants all he has to give. “I think I might want that.”

“Please. You can, you can choose what you want to do. I-” He falters, squeezing his eyes shut. Louis feels like on some level this is new for him too. “Do you want to fuck me?”

And Louis can feel himself nodding even as his gut clenches and his mouth goes dry because he does, he wants to feel all the places he’s never felt him before, he wants to reach under his skin and know him like that. “Yeah, okay. Tell me what to do.”

Harry nods slowly, awe in his eyes as he pulls himself up, reaching for his bedside table and fumbling with the top drawer, pulling out a condom and what Louis thinks is lube. He looks lost for a moment, half naked and flushed on his covers as he looks back over at Louis. There’s understanding there, that this isn’t going to be like the movies, that they’re just two kids trying to figure out what they’re supposed to be doing, but that’s okay.

“I love you.” Harry says quietly, because it’s so quiet now, the movie played out, just their breathing in the low light.

Louis takes an unsteady breath, closes his eyes and lets the words fall out. They’re there, stuck in his chest, he just has to let them go. “I love you too.”

When he opens his eyes Harry is staring down at him like he made the universe with his hands. 

Louis heaves himself up on arms that don’t seem to work right, sitting across from Harry. “Shouldn’t you lay back?” He asks, crawling forward on his knees so he can feel the heat from Harry’s body, pressing him back against the pillows with careful hands that barely shake.

Harry nods, caught in a glassy eyed daze that makes him look like he swallowed the stars. Louis smiles down at him, pulling his boxers down his legs and tossing them on the floor, six feet of awkward muscle bound limbs that he has permission to touch. 

“Tell me what to do now.” He prompts quietly, running his hands down Harry’s sides, drawing patterns on his stomach and making Harry clench his hands in the sheets. 

Harry exhales, eyelashes fluttering. “You have to open me up with your fingers, so it doesn’t hurt.”

Louis nods, letting himself be calmed by the way Harry keeps looking at him. There’s trust there, trust he isn’t sure he deserves but is willing to believe in. If Harry thinks he can do this, then he can. “Okay, teach me.” He says, letting Harry push the bottle into his hands. He pops off the lid, coating his fingers and pushing Harry’s legs open with his free hand, barely breathing as Harry reaches for his wrist, guiding him between his legs. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Louis says, dropping a hand onto Harry’s hip, holding on with everything he has. 

Harry shakes his head, his grip tightening and untightening like a blood pressure cuff. Louis thinks he must have hypertension, his heart pumping much too fast to make his body work. 

“You won’t.” Harry says quietly, and Louis thinks maybe he’s waiting for Louis to do something, that pleading look in his eyes pulling him apart at the seams. He takes a deep shuddering breath, wishing that would calm the shaking in his hands because _god why is he shaking, it’s Harry and Harry told him he loved him and he can do this._

He shifts forward, brushing his fingers against Harry’s hole and not pulling back when Harry squirms at the touch, pressing in so slowly, watching as Harry’s eyes flutter shut and he clenches his teeth, a furrow forming in his brow. Louis wonders how many people have seen him like this, if he always looks so lovely.

He shifts his hips against Louis’ fingers, letting him add a second and murmuring soft nothing’s when Louis leans over him, fringe hanging into his face. Harry reaches for the hand Louis has on his hip, grasping it with fumbling hands and holding on tight. Harry’s hands are so big, long fingers that make Louis think terrible things and big palms he needs both hands to really wrap up.

He adds a third finger, barely breathing as Harry lets out a half gasped groan, his grip tightening like he’s trying to keep himself grounded. Louis isn’t quite sure what to do with himself, tries scissoring his fingers a bit like he used to do with girls, and is rewarded by a soft little hitch of breath, like he stole the air from Harry’s lungs. 

It’s mesmerizing watching him, the way he breathes, how he body reacts even when he tries to keep it from doing so, and Louis is transfixed.

“ _How do I know when you, when you’re ready?_ ” He asks, his voice sounding strange in his mouth, all low and rough. He feels like he might fall apart with how much he wants this, with how terrified he is, but he can’t stop, not when Harry’s looking at him like that, like he’s been looking at Louis this entire time.

“ _I think now._ ” Harry whispers, and he looks terrified too and Louis wants to comfort him, so he slides his hand out and covers Harry with his body, sticky fingers on his comforter, lips sucking on his neck.

“Are you nervous?” Louis asks, kissing the place his neck meets his shoulder. “Haven’t you done this before?”

“You make me nervous.” Harry says finally, his words vibrating through his skin. “Can you please-” He heaves in a breath, batting Louis away from his neck with hands that somehow get stuck on Louis’ chest and in his hair. “Can you do it now?”

Louis nods, not trusting himself with words, picking up the condom from the bed and ripping it open, sliding it down his cock and letting out a long held breath as he gives himself a few quick pulls. 

“ _Oh my god._ ” Louis whispers after a moment, half needing to pause and catch his breath and yet unable to stop. The thing is, this moment feels so indelible, like its going to stick in his skin and change him, and he wants to live in it forever. 

“What?” Harry asks, green eyes all bright and blinking, his legs bent up on the bed.

Louis shakes his head, crawling over him so their bodies are all lined up. “You.” He replies, clutching at Harry’s shoulders and settling above him. Harry has his hands on Louis’ hips, fingers that clutch so tight Louis thinks they might leave marks, and he almost hopes they do because wants to press his fingertips to them and remember this. 

“Like this?” Louis asks, ducking his head and shuddering when he feels Harry against the head of his cock, knows he isn’t going to be able to last long. 

Harry nods frantically, eyes squeezed shut like he’s bracing himself. 

Louis pushes inside him slowly, listening to the way Harry’s breathing to let him know when to keep going and when to stop. It’s overwhelming, his entire body only aware of Harry and the fact that he’s a part of him, that he can feel the way Harry has him wrapped up in his limbs and his love. 

He whimpers out something that Louis thinks might be a plea and moves his hips slowly, drawing a moan from Louis he thinks he probably won’t have the decency to be embarrassed about later. 

“ _Move._ ” He says softly, reaching up so he’s holding Louis’ hand again. “ _Please, c’mon. I want, I really want to feel you_.”

Louis nods, pulling out and pushing in again, making a concentrated effort to keep himself from coming apart too soon because he wants to make this good for Harry because it’s already so good for him, better than he could have imagined. 

Harry’s mouth falls open like he can’t help it, his body going slack as Louis thrusts into him, his hand creeping across his stomach to his cock, wrapping his fingers between them. 

Louis shakes his head, feeling his hair stick to his forehead and fall into his eyes. He reaches down, pulling Harry’s hand away and pinning it to the bed before he can really think the action through.

Louis leans down like an apology, pressing messy open mouthes kisses to Harry’s mouth that are more a need to feel his lips than any kind of finesse. Harry is panting beneath him, his air half Louis’ and half his own and Louis can barely breathe at all. He lets go of Harry’s hand, pulling the mess of sweaty curls back from his forehead and pressing his mouth to the pink skin there, tasting salt and skin on his lips. 

“ _I can’t, I can’t much longer._ ” He murmurs softly, because this is all too much and Harry is moaning out little half formed sentences with every thrust of his hips and words that sound like his name. Spread out beneath him, legs wrapped around Louis’ waist, desperate underneath him, Harry is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

Harry’s only reply is a soft little whimper, canting his hips up so his cock brushes just against Louis’ stomach. He pulls Louis’ hand down, fitting it between them and wrapping his fingers around his cock, using their intertwined fingers to get him off.

Louis can feel his thrusts losing rhythm, can feel himself getting so close he can almost taste release on his tongue, grits his teeth and tries to hold on until Harry moves against him and lets out a soft breathy moan and he can’t anymore. 

He holds himself as steady as he can, a groan falling from his lips as he pushes through his orgasm, barely registering that Harry’s coming too until he feels it spread across his stomach. 

He just lays there for a long moment, trying to get his breath back and his head on straight and make his heart stop trying to leave his chest. Harry seems to be doing the same, his eyes closed tight, breathing hard underneath him. 

He pulls out as slowly as he can, still trying so hard to be careful, because even though Harry is a bit bigger than him, he looks so fragile all of a sudden. He ties the condom off and tosses it somewhere near the bin, leaning back over Harry.

“Harry?” Louis asks, combing his curls back, pressing light kisses to his flushed skin, smiling when Harry blinks up at him. “Hey, sunshine.”

“Hi, Lou.” He says softly, looking fucked out and sinful but also like something Louis wants to cuddle up to his chest and never let go of. 

“I promise I normally last a bit longer than that.” Louis says with a tiny little laugh. “You’re turning me into a lightweight.”

Harry just smiles up at him. “You were perfect.”

Louis shakes his head, settling down next to Harry even though they’re filthy and sweaty and gross because at this point he can’t bring himself to care. “Whatever you say, babe.”

“Hey Lou?”

“Yeah?” 

“This was my first time too.”

Louis sits up, staring down at Harry, trying to read his meaning in his face.

“Zayn would, he never, I never took it.” He says, blushing and trying to tuck his face into Louis’ body.

“Oh I-” Louis pauses, stroking a hand across Harry’s chest. “Why did you let me?”

Harry shrugs. “I wanted to give you one of my firsts, even if we didn’t do this again.”

Louis feels for a moment like the whole world has dropped away, his stomach dropping like he’s in freefall. “Why wouldn’t we do it again?”

Harry shrugs.

“Harry.” Louis says, a smile playing across his lips. “I’m not afraid anymore. I meant that. And I don’t want you to be afraid, because I’m not going to leave.”

Harry smiles, a small thing that grows until it fills his face. “Good.”

“You make me happy, Haz.” He says, almost like an afterthought, realizing it as the words come out. “You make me really happy.”

Harry tucks himself into Louis’ side, messy and smiley and sweaty and as perfect as these things ever get. “You make me happy too.”

Louis pulls Harry in, pressing a smiling kiss to the top of his shoulder. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol omg when I started this story I was like OMG GONNA WRITE SOME LARRY HATESEX CAN'T WAIT and then the stupid fucking boyfriends had to go and fall in love like that was not in the plan can't I write hot sex whY DOES ALL MY SEX TURN INTO FEELINGS.
> 
> Also in other news yeah sorry this is shortish I have a busy schedule and I'm nonfunctional okay. (SHOW CHOIR IS OVER IN JUST OVER A WEEK AND I GET TO SEE MAGGIE NEXT WEEKEND FOR ALL YOU CMIF PEOPLE YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW EXCITED I AM TRJTREHE)


	9. Chapter 9

Zayn finds himself sitting at Liam’s kitchen table, his econ homework strewn out in front of him, Liam curled over his math, glaring at it like it’s done something terrible to him. 

Zayn stretches out his stiff shoulders, looking out into the kitchen. Liam’s house is really nice, though Liam always blushes and shakes his head when Zayn says so. It’s just warmer than Zayn’s in a way that’s much more than temperature. His house feels like an ikea showroom; perfectly put together and immaculate, but completely unlived in. Liam’s house has magazines laying on the wearing couch cushions and oriental rugs with fraying strings on the sides, and it’s so homey it he can barely stand it.

“Zayn?” Liam’s voice is entreating, the remainders of worry in his eyes.

Zayn blinks himself back to reality, not realizing he’d be zoning out until Liam spoke. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

Zayn gives him a smile, because yes, he’s always okay. In fact, he’s much more okay than he’s been in a good while. Okay is a sliding scale, and he’s probably never going to be at the top but lately he’s been further from the bottom. “Course I am.”

Liam nods, looking a bit sheepish. “I just worry.”

Zayn nods, because he’s glad that Liam worries. He needs that, even after all those times he told himself he didn’t. “You don’t need to.” He thinks Liam knows he’s lying.

“You just look so sad sometimes.” Liam says like he doesn’t understand where Zayn finds so much sadness, because Liam doesn’t keep darkness bundled inside him. He’s simple and lovely and Zayn is endlessly envious. Zayn had always had trouble holding onto happiness.

“I am sad sometimes.” Zayn replies, because there’s no use lying to Liam. The worst thing about Liam is that his eyes always make him tell the truth in the end.

Liam’s mouth pulls into a frown. “I wish you weren’t.”

Zayn smiles, slow, self deprecating. “I’m working on it.”

Liam nods, tapping his pencil in quick on the table. “I want to help.”

Zayn smiles, quick, before he can help it. “You do.”

 

xx

 

It’s second period and Zayn is in the process of ditching because he’s studious now but he’s no mother teresa and it’s not like he can be expected to go to government every single day. He’s crossing the quad when he hears his name being called, looking to find Liam sprinting towards him.

“Zayn! Zayn wait for one second!” 

Zayn turns, unable to keep from looking amused as Liam comes to a skidding stop in front of him. “What’s assonance?”

Zayn snickers, shifting his backpack up higher on his shoulders. “Did you seriously just run across the quad just so you could ask me the definition of a literary term?”

Liam looks crestfallen and bit confused. “Yes?”

Zayn tries to fight a grin without much success. “It’s like alliteration but it’s a repeated vowel sound.”

Liam brightens up. “Great. I just took a test in English and I wasn’t sure about that question.”

“Did you get it?” Zayn asks, starting the walk towards the forest behind the school. 

“Yep. I thought it might be hyperbole but I think that’s something else.” He says it high-per-bowl and Zayn has to bite his lip to keep himself from smiling too hard.

“Hyper-bol-ee.” He corrects. “That’s an exaggeration, usually for comedic effect.”

Liam shakes his head, a laugh falling from his lips. “How do you even remember this stuff?”

Zayn shrugs, tapping the side of his head. “I have a good memory. Just because I didn’t used to do my work doesn’t mean I didn’t pay attention.”

“I think I would hate you if you weren’t the reason I’m currently passing.” Liam says, and Zayn feels a surge of warmth in his chest. He likes Liam, he really likes Liam, a whole damn lot more than he should. He’s used to this, falling for every person who looks at him right, but he thinks Liam could be different. He kind of wants him to be.

“Wait, where are we going?” He ask, apparently realizing that Zayn is making straight for the line of trees on the edge of the property.

“The forest.”

Liam looks suitably alarmed. “Why?”

“Because I’m a delinquent.” Zayn replies, stepping over a stray branch, his fancy dress shoes sinking into the grass. 

“Zayn.” he says, voice disapproving, though Zayn has the feeling he’s going to follow him. 

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, its not a big deal.” Zayn says, trying to configure his face into something comforting because he’s fairly sure Liam isn’t the type of kid who casually skips class.

Liam pauses for a second, but eventually just shrugs, following Zayn through the underbrush. “I’ve ditched twice and both times it’s been because of you.”

“Looks like I’m a bad influence.” Zayn replies, looking up at the trees, the last brightly colored leaves trembling in the October breeze. It’s a little too cold for him to be outside without gloves, but Zayn doesn’t wear gloves even in the dead of winter and hats mess up his hair so he normally just toughs it out. 

“Yes you are.” Liam agrees, but he follows him into the trees anyway, the two of them crunching through the underbrush, down the decline to the edge of the creek. It’s decently full, dirty water glittering through the rocks, carrying scarlet leaves down it like tiny boats.

Zayn steps to the edge, soil crumbling into the river under his wingtips. “Nice out here, isn’t it?”

Liam nods, looking up through the treetops. “Yeah, really is.”

Sunlight looks good on him, Zayn decides. It washes Zayn out a little, especially after his summer tan fades, but Liam looks like he belongs in it. He tears his eyes away before Liam can catch him looking, leaning out over the creek. 

“I’m not fishing you out if you fall in.” Liam chastises, and Zayn can nearly picture the worry on his face. Liam is a worrier and Zayn thinks maybe he likes to be worried about. When it’s Liam, he doesn’t feel guilty about letting him care.

“You probably would.” Zayn replies, nearly toppling over when Liam grabs onto one of his hands and pulls him back. “Now see if I’d fallen in then, that would have been your fault.” Zayn says, not letting go of Liam’s hand even though he’s regained his balance.

His fingers are chilly and so are Liam’s, and Liam has the strangest expression on his face like some part of him was planning to pull his hand away but he doesn’t know if he wants to anymore.

“You okay?” Zayn asks, even though he’s the one who nearly stumbled.

Liam nods, closes his eyes, opens them. He says, quietly; “I really like you.”

Zayn shrugs, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. He wants to touch him, wants Liam to pull him in and hold his waist because he wants all the other stuff like the fucking and kissing but god he just wants to hold him. “Okay.”

Liam looks down, flushing pink and Zayn clutches his fingers tight because he remembers what this is like, when you can barely get the words out because they’re terrifying even though they shouldn’t be. Because there are no take backs, no ‘ _just kidding I don’t like you, I don’t like boys_ ’ once you’ve opened up your chest and finally told the truth. It’s scary, it’s scary every single time but it helps the franticness that secrets build in your chest. It hurts like pulling off a bandaid, but then it’s done and you’re healed.

“I like you too.” Zayn says tentatively. “But you probably knew that.”

Liam nods, still looking at the ground. 

Zayn takes a deep breath because he knows he’s decent at this when he wants to be, because Liam needs someone and he’ll be that person after all Liam has done for him. “You don’t need to, you know, be ashamed of how you feel. You can trust me, alright? I know how hard it is sometimes.”

Liam nods, and he just looks tired and for a moment Zayn thinks he can glimpse Liam’s darkness, hidden deep behind his eyes. “I know I can.”

Zayn smiles. “Good.” He wants to step closer, but he doesn’t, because Liam is sweet and breakable and he’s not going to push him into waters he isn’t ready for.

“You’re a really good person, Zayn.” Liam says, brown eyes like whiskey and twice as intoxicating. Liam is all the alcohol he’ll ever need to make his brain go fuzzy. “Maybe that’s a weird thing to say but you are.”

Zayn shakes his head, unable to keep the smile off his face even as he shakes out his hair, unable to hold Liam’s gaze anymore. “Some days I’m alright.”

Liam steps closer to him, their fingers tangled. “Most days.”

Zayn looks up at Liam, reaching for Liam’s other hand and taking it so Liam knows. “I think you’re flirting with me, Liam Payne.”

“Maybe.” Liam says, that blush still coloring his cheeks, a light back in his eyes that Zayn thinks he really likes.

“I see.” Zayn says, going up on his tip toes the tiniest bit to kiss Liam before he can think too hard about it.

It’s barely long enough for Zayn to memorize the way Liam’s lips feel, but it’s sweet and lovely and it’s worth it for the way Liam’s mouth curls into a surprised little smile afterward. 

“I won’t tell anyone.” Zayn says, holding tight to Liam’s hands. “But you can tell whomever you want.”

The red and brown leaves tremble above their heads and it’s fall but Liam smiles like the spring, bright and new like he’s feeling the sun for the first time.

 

xx

 

“Hey dickweed, you’re coming to my party, right?” Niall asks, flinging his arms around Harry and pressing his chin onto his shoulder as Harry tries to get his locker open.

“Course I am.” Harry replies, trying once again to shake Niall off as he pulls the lock off, slamming the door open. He thinks that Niall might be half irish, half barnacle.

“What about you, Louis?” 

Harry freezes as Niall slides off his back, shooting a bright smile at Louis, who is standing in the middle of the hallway caught half between amusement, disdain, and deer caught in headlights. Harry feels a pang of affection deep in his chest as he watches him in his stupidly pristine uniform, though Harry is fairly sure he can see a rather suspicious stain that may be from when Louis shoved him into a broom closet during passing period and didn’t let him out until they were both fifteen minutes late.

It’s actually amazing to watch the way he falls into his old swagger, a smirk coloring his face as he meets Harry’s eyes very deliberately. “Oh I don’t know, I might come. Would you like me to come, Harry?”

“Oh I’d love for you to come, Louis.” Harry replies, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

“This is gross.” Niall complains, shoving his face violently into Harry’s neck. “You’re uninvited, both of you.”

Louis shrugs delicately. “Not my fault Harry won’t stop hitting on me.”

Harry starts, giving Louis an incredulous look that he counters with another lilt of his shoulders. Louis is flirting with him. In the middle of the hallway. If Harry’s being honest, he’s debating throwing Louis over his shoulder and carrying him back to the broom closet so he can have his way with him. “You’re hitting on me!”

“Well I’m actually pretty sure you started it, Harry.” Louis says. “Oh and Niall?”

Niall peeks his head out from where it’s still tucked against Harry. “Yea?”

“If you hurt Eleanor I may use this party as an excuse to burn your house down.” Louis says it with a smile and Harry isn’t sure if he’s terrified or aroused.

“Harry he’s threatening me.” Niall says, turning his entire body so he’s plastered to Harry’s side. “I like her.” He mumbles after a few seconds.

Louis’s smile loses it’s edge, becoming just the smallest bit soft. It’s Harry’s favorite and he wishes Louis would wear it more often. “She likes flowers. Especially purple ones.”

Niall gives him a little half smile and Harry can’t help but grin at the both of them. “Thanks, mate, I’ll remember that.”

Louis nods. “No problem. Good luck, she’s lovely.”

“I’d tell you good luck, but I don’t really think you really need it.” Niall says, pouting when Harry tries to untangle his arms from his waist.

Louis catches Harry’s eyes, making his stomach tie up in happy knots. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Niall.”

Niall makes a sound so incredulous Harry almost laughs. “Oh don’t be a cunt.”

“Nice seeing you Niall.” Louis replies sweetly. “And Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s that white stuff in your hair?”

Harry swears as Niall cackles beside him, running frantic fingers through his curls and coming up with nothing.

“He’s full of it Haz, you’re fine.” Niall says when he finally gets his laughter under control.

Harry glowers, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s a fucking little shit.”

“Yeah, but you’re mad for him.” Niall singsongs, poking him in the side.

“Fuck off, Niall.” Harry replies. At this point, he can’t even deny it.

xx

 

Eleanor shows up 3 hours early with a box of halloween cupcakes she and Danielle made the afternoon before, covering them with orange frosting and drawing little cat faces on them with black icing. Niall answers the door already in costume, and Eleanor can’t help the cackle that escapes her lips at the sparkly purple seashell bra he has on.

She blushes, ducking her head. “Sorry, that wasn’t very ladylike.”

Niall smiles back at her, grabbing the box from her hands and heading to the kitchen. “I think the cupcakes make up for it. And at least you didn’t snort.”

“I suppose it could have been worse.” She replies with a smile, adjusting her jacket. Her and Danielle had decided to go as the Pink Ladies this year, both of them with matching coats and big hair. 

She’s been in Niall’s house before, his parties have been famous for years as his family has a reputation for leaving on the weekends and being fairly carefree about teenagers raiding their house. He’s already got a good amount of decorations up, some black and orange streamers hanging haphazardly from the ceiling, but she knows it’s not finished yet, that some of the girls he hangs out with show up early to help decorate. 

“Thanks for coming to help, Pez and the girls should be here in a few minutes.” He says, setting the box on the counter and flipping it open. “These looks great, did you make them?”

“They’re box cake, but yeah.” She says, peering over his shoulder to look at the messily frosted cupcakes.

“I’m not complaining.” He replies cheerily, moving to the fridge. “All cupcakes are good cupcakes.”

“I agree entirely.” She agrees, leaning against the counter and watching him hurry around the kitchen, pulling bags of chips out of plastic bags and pouring salsa into bowls. “What do you need me to do?”

“Perrie is our militant decorator, you can just chill with me until she gets here.” He replies, his smile so disarming she suddenly feels a little less nervous. 

“I didn’t think she liked me, actually.” She admits, because Perrie is cool and she parties and sings and Eleanor just dated Louis Tomlinson for 2 years. 

“If she doesn’t like you we’ll kick her out.” He says. “Besides, you’re the best.”

She laughs. “Damn right I am.”

He smiles, temporarily abandoning his salsa to head into the next room. “I have something for you actually.”

“Oh?” She asks, leaning to try and peer through the doorway. “What’ve I done to deserve that?”

“Nothing in particular.” He replies, heading back into the room with something behind his back. 

“Tadaa.” He says, procuring a bunch of lavender and presenting it to her with a smile so big she can’t help but smile back.

“How did you...?” She asks, covering her mouth with her hands so he can’t see how big she’s grinning.

“Anonymous tip.” He replies with a wink, and he looks so silly in his mermaid costume and flowers and she’s forgotten what it’s like to have someone who does things like bring her flowers and smiles like she makes them happy and suddenly she can’t stop giggling.

“Thankyou so much.” She finally gets out, enveloping him in a hug. He’s surprisingly warm, all soft pale skin and wiry muscles, and she’s mostly forgotten what it’s like to have a crush but she’s pretty sure it’s like this.

“No problem.” He replies when she pulls back, all bright blue eyes and pink cheeks.

She just smiles, kissing him quickly on the mouth. “I can’t believe I just kissed a dude in a bra.” She jokes, blushing just as pink as he is.

He shrugs, giving her a lazy half grin. “Do you think you could get used to it?”

She nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

 

xx

 

The party is in full swing when Harry walks in, Niall’s favorite brand of pop music blasting through the opening hall. There’s a white board propped up against the wall that says in Niall’s messy handwriting:

 

_Trick or Treat Bitches _  
 _No throwing up on my shit  
 _No smoking in my fucking house _  
 _Do not bring colored drinks into the rooms with white carpet like are you an idiot_  
 _Please only bleed on the tile_  
 _Call a taxi if you’re white girl wasted or regular wasted don’t be that guy____  
__

 _ _

Someone has already taken the liberty of drawing an extremely detailed penis below the words, prompting a giggle from Harry as he fixes the his fox ear headband he’d spent a good forty minutes meticulously glueing the night before. After much pestering by Louis, he’d decided to go as one of the lost boys, giving himself two war paint splats on his cheeks and wearing a shirt nearly the same brown-red as his fox ears.

Harry can hear the jangle of Zayn’s car keys behind him as he shoves them in his pocket, following him through the door. Zayn has dyed a nearly white streak across the top of his head for the specific purpose of being the skunk lost boy, and Harry thinks that if he gets his phone out to check himself out one more time Harry is going to have to kill him. 

“You made it!” It’s Niall, a cup of beer sloshing in his hand as he pulls both of them into a sweaty hug. “Ahhhh party animals I love it!” He says, pulling the tail Zayn has pinned to the back of his jeans.

“No, we’re lost boys, like Peter Pan.” Harry protests, wiggling out of his grasp with a smile. “And you’re..?

Niall has some strange pink fake flowers in his hair and he’s shirtless, wearing a pair of teal pants that sag far too low on his hips to be decent. “I’m a merman, god, are you a fucking idiot?”

“I see legs Niall, you’re a pretty shit merman.” Zayn says, going straight for Niall’s nipple and twisting hard.

Niall yelps. “Yeah fuck you mate, not my fault Cher ran off with my seashell bra.”

Harry just laughs, feeling suddenly buoyant. “Of course you had a seashell bra.”

Niall looks at him like he’s crazy. “Well duh, I’m a merman.” He peers above them, spotting a fresh group of people heading up the block. “Alright you two, go, drink, start a fight.”

Harry shoves Niall towards the door, heading towards the kitchen with Zayn in tow. He finds Cher holding court at the minibar in a yellow dress that looks like it belongs in Mad Men, her hair done up in sensible curls, Niall’s seashell bra wrapped around her upper arm.

“Hey boys!” She calls, waving at them with a shiny metal tumbler. “Margaritas!”

They weave through the already unfolding chaos. Niall has a rule that it’s not a real party unless someone bleeds or someone cries, and Harry is thinking this one might hit real party status within the hour.

“Saw your boo earlier, he’s looking delicious.” She says when Harry rests his arms on the mahogany top, fishing a red cup from the top of the stack and upending the contents of the tumbler inside. “Here you go, babes.”

Harry thinks it’s probably sacrilege of some kind to drink margaritas out of red solo cups but he’s not really going to complain. “My what now?” 

“Your boo.” She winks gaudily. “Mr. Peter Pan.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that.” Harry says, giving her a smile that says quite the opposite, as if she didn’t already know. 

“Sure you wouldn’t.” She replies. “Although he is over there, if you did happen to know anything about it.”

Harry looks around, to the apparent amusement of Zayn and Cher, spotting what looks like a green hat perched on what is definitely Louis’ head. “Be right back.” He says, taking his cup and leaving Zayn and Cher to giggle conspiratorially at him.

“Take your time, sweetheart.” Zayn calls, a laugh just audible over the din as Harry flips him the bird over his shoulder.

Harry cuts around a group of what look to be freshman, heading to where Louis is once again entertaining a small crowd of smiling onlookers. He finds himself pausing, more out of habit than anything. In truth, he’s still not used to being able to touch him, hasn’t yet learned just how far Louis will let him go when everyone else is watching.

Louis looks stupidly attractive in his dumb green cargo pants and little peter pan hat. He’s not wearing a shirt because he’s that kind of asshole, fake vines wrapped around his arms like bracelets and Harry thinks that being so hot might be a Health and Safety Violation.

Louis notices Harry not long after some girl with a sailor hat perched jauntily on her head proposes beer pong, the group dissipating as Louis beckons Harry over with a quick curl of his finger. 

“Not ashamed to be seen with me?” Harry asks, holding his drink out to Louis.

“I’m completely mortified to be anywhere near you to be honest.” Louis replies, taking a swig from Harry’s cup. “Give it a few hours though, fruity drinks turn me into a slut.”

Harry nearly chokes on air. “Did you ever have a filter, or is this a new thing?”

Louis shrugs. “You bring out the very worst in me.”

“Untrue.” Harry replies, because he knows Louis’ eyes didn’t used to sparkle like that, or haven’t for a while. 

“Someone’s pleased with himself.” Louis replies, but there’s a smile on his face that won’t leave even as he says it.

“I never said I wasn’t.” Harry replies. He leans in close to Louis’ ear, registering the shiver even as the smaller boy tries to suppress it. “You’re gorgeous you know. I’ve always thought so.”

“Have you?” Louis murmurs, and Harry can almost feel the way he’s trying so hard not to curve into Harry’s body, clutching the cup just a little too hard in his hands. 

“Yeah. Even when you were with her I still wanted you. Do you even know what your body is like?” Harry says, lowering his tone so Louis has to lean closer to hear it.

“I have a fairly good idea.” Louis says quietly, the gravelly edge to his voice more pronounced. 

“I can’t decide what my favorite part of you is, actually.” Harry continues, and he wants to touch him so badly, but he’s terrified if he does the spell will be broken. He likes it here, holding Louis in with soft breath in his ear. “I used to think it was your arse, then maybe your hands, or your lips, but lately I’ve been thinking I’m fairly partial to your thighs.”

Louis takes a sharp breath in, pulling out of Harry’s range and downing most of the cup in one go. “Okay. Okay we’re done. Come with me, up stairs, bathroom, I literally don’t even care.”

Harry laughs, following Louis out of the kitchen and ignoring the irritated look he sends him as they head up Niall’s stairs and to his second level where people are leaning on the bannister. It’s decently dark in the house, Niall, or, more likely, whatever girls he’d coerced into decorating this year, have lit the way with fake jack-o-laterns.

“Where won’t we get caught?” Louis asks, his blue eyes bright, a grin on his face.

“Closet?” Harry asks, pointing to the big walk in thing where Niall’s washing machine and towels are. 

“Very ironic tonight, aren’t we.” Louis says, wrenching the door open and sliding in, Harry following close behind. 

He feels around for the light, finding only a rack of towels and a blank wall. “Fuck, where’s the switch.” 

“You know I kind of don’t care.” Louis replies, finding Harry in the dark with groping hands. “Maybe if hooking up in dark linen closets bothered you, you shouldn’t have been such a little shit.”

“I wasn’t!” Harry protests as Louis pushes him up against the door, pressing his lips against the line of Harry’s jaw. 

“Yes you were.” Louis confirms, kissing him on the mouth. “Next time we’re in polite company I suggest you learn some manners.”

Harry just makes a sound of agreement, because when Louis gets like this, all sharp and handsy, Harry would probably do almost anything he asked. “Let me lift you up.”

Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck in response, pressing his face to Harry’s neck with a smile.

“Okay, now jump.” 

Louis does, Harry catching him and walking the both of them to where the washing machines are, setting Louis down on top, relishing the little Oh that escapes his mouth when he’s unexpectedly put down. 

“Harry?”

Harry pauses, caught in the way his voice sounds small, almost nervous. “Yeah?”

“I like you.”

“Course you do.” Harry replies, pushing his body between Louis’ legs, caught in a strange haze of want and fondness. He just wants to curl himself up in Louis’ heart and never leave. 

“I like me, when I’m with you.” 

“I like you when you’re with me too.” Harry replies, reaching up for Louis face, feeling the curve of his smile with soft hands. 

“Well then kiss me, you fool.” And Harry can hear the near laughter in his voice, the way he’s bursting at the seams with happiness, their affections bleeding out of their skin and tangling each other up.

“Always a pleasure.” Harry says as Louis leans down and Harry leans up, their mouths pressing together in the darkness.

Harry knows then, for sure, that he loves him.

__


	10. Chapter 10

Zayn strolls out onto the front walk, the halloween party devolving behind him. He made a promise to himself that he would try not to drink, and so far he’s managed to honor it. This promise was partially a promise to Liam after Zayn told him that him that yes, this was a real party with alcohol and yes, other less than legal substances would probably be passed around, which prompted a truly adorable set of circumstances where Liam pretended not to be worried even though he was.

He pulls up Liam’s number on his phone, sending him a quick text. It’s only midnight and he knows Liam is the sort of person who’ll go to sleep before ten just because, but it’s also quite easy to talk him out of being grumpy. 

 

11:47 Zayn

Still keeping my promise, you fun sucker. 

 

Liam doesn’t respond for a while, enough for Zayn to light a cigarette, one addiction he isn’t going to give up for some pretty brown eyes. 

 

11:49 Zayn

Wake up sleepyhead. You can get your beauty rest later.

 

11:49 Liam

No. :((((

 

Zayn thinks that Liam might actually be half teenage boy and half seven year old. It would certainly explain his dancing skills. 

 

11:50 Zayn

I’m going to come and pick you up, can you be outside in 15 minutes?

 

11:50 Liam 

No!!! Are you drink? 

11:50 Liam

*drunk

 

11:51 Zayn

Didn’t you read the first message? And I don’t have to be drunk to want to hang out with you. This party is getting old, I’m bored.

 

11:51 Liam

Ur crazy but ok

11:51 Liam

Wat r we doin??

 

Zayn rolls his eyes at the complete lack of spelling, sliding his phone into his pocket. He briefly wonders if Liam is making a stylistic choice or if he’s actually partially illiterate. As someone who has read quite a few of Liam’s papers, he’s leaning towards the latter option.

He throws the remainder of his fag into one of Niall’s flowerbeds, walking through the chilly October night and down the street. It’s gotten unexpectedly cold, and he’s glad he thought to throw on a jacket. 

He parked decently down the way, but one of the perks of being close to Niall is that you can leave your car in the general vicinity of the party as opposed to blocks and blocks away. Still, his hands are starting to freeze when he finally gets the door open, sliding onto the chilly leather. He thinks he probably should have told Harry where he was getting off to, but he’s also pretty positive Harry isn’t going to be thinking about much more than Louis for a large majority of the night, so he’ll probably just text him in the morning.

Liam is sitting on his porch when Zayn pulls up, wearing what are definitely his sleep pants and a white tee shirt that is the universe rewarding Zayn for not fucking up anything too major in the last 48 hours. 

Zayn rolls down his window. “Get in!”

Liam looks up, jogging over like he’s in a commercial for something really manly. “Where are we going?”

“My house?” Zayn offers, as Liam slides into the seat, pulling his seatbelt on.

“Okay?” Liam replies, looking fairly bemused. Zayn thinks part of the problem is that Liam still can’t figure out why Zayn wants to do anything with him at all. “Nice hair by the way.”

Zayn laughs, pulling back out into the street. “I thought it was pretty punk rock.”

“You’re not punk rock.” Liam says with a laugh, his eyes crinkling up at the sides. “The expensive car ruins it, you’d need a beater to really be punk rock.”

“It’s ironic.” Zayn says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. 

“I don’t know if that’s how that works. Do real punk rockers even have cars or do you have to skateboard everywhere?” 

“I can skateboard.” Zayn replies, because when he was six he tried to ride one and fell on his ass and he’s fairly sure that counts.

“Can you really?” Liam asks, looking once again abnormally excited about trivial pieces of information. One of the best things about Liam is that he’s a great conversationalist simply because he’s perpetually interested.

“Of course not.” Zayn says with a wry grin, glancing up at the sky, wispy clouds wreathing the nearly full moon.

“Maybe you’re more soft grunge.” Liam says, looking pleased with himself. 

“Oh shut up, I’m not fucking soft grunge.” Zayn says, taking one hand off the wheel to smack him on the shoulder, stifling a smile when Liam giggles.

“That jacket’s pretty soft grunge.” Liam replies, even though Zayn is positive he has no idea what soft grunge even is. 

“Oh no it’s not. My style is ghetto posh.” Zayn says, even thought he has absolutely no clue what ghetto posh is, and is fairly sure it’s not a thing. 

Liam puts his face in his hands, nearly snorting. Liam is a surprisingly giggly person for someone who could probably pass as a jock. “You’re the absolute worst.”

“You just don’t respect my fashion decisions.” Zayn replies. “You’re so post-punk athletic revival.”

“You just made that up!” Liam says, but Zayn thinks there might be the smallest bit of doubt in his voice.

“But can you prove that?” Zayn asks, hoping his smile doesn’t give him away.

“No, no I can’t.” Liam concedes, leaning back in his seat, his face sobering up as he changes the subject. “You know, I don’t actually think I’ve been to your house before.”

“You haven’t.” Zayn says, because he’s been putting off taking Liam there for a while now. “It’s nothing special.”

“I just feel like I should’ve been there before.” Liam says. “Considering that we’re like...” He pauses, almost like he’s not sure what the right word to put there is. “You know, friends and all.”

“The only person who really comes to my house is Harry.” Zayn replies. “Sometimes my mom will invite people over for dinner, but unless it’s an event, it’s really only ever Harry.”

“But what about all your other friends?” Liam asks, looking genuinely confused about the whole thing.

“I think you’re having some trouble with the concept that I literally have like, two friends.” Zayn replies, turning into his neighborhood.

“People like you though, you have way more than two friends.” Liam protests.

“Not really. A lot of people like Harry, and Harry likes me. I’m Harry’s druggy burnout half boyfriend who people sometimes talk to.” He replies, and looks over at Liam before he can stop himself, registering the displeasure in his gaze.

“I wish you didn’t think about yourself like that.” Liam says as they pull into his driveway. “I just, it’s not true? Danielle always talks about how sweet you are and how good at dancing you are and you’re funny and smart and I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that.”

“I can’t magically not hate myself, Liam.” Zayn says, and it’s meant to be a joke but it doesn’t quite make the leap. “Sorry, that got a bit dark.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Liam replies, getting out of the car and following Zayn up his drive. “You know, at my old school I didn’t have any friends. Like, not even two.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Zayn prompts, leading him through the grass and into his enormous backyard. 

“There’s not much to talk about.” Liam says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I had a shitty group of friends and when they found out I was gay they kindof shut me out.” He kicks at the grass, looking down at his feet. “It was just really hard for me and I felt really alone and so my mom thought it would be good for me to start at a new school.”

“Jesus, Li.” Zayn replies, turning around to wait for Liam, holding out a tentative hand. “I had no idea.”

“I know you didn’t.” Liam says, stopping in front of him. He looks down at the outstretched hand for a long moment before he takes it, giving Zayn a tentative little smile when he does. “I wasn’t ready to tell you, because that was a not great time in my life.”

“It’s different here. Harry and I have been out for years and no one cares anymore.” Zayn assures him. “Not that you have to come out. But just, I’ll support you. And Harry will punch anyone who gives you shit.”

Liam cracks a smile at that. “Will he sleep with them too, or was that a one time thing?”

Zayn laughs before he can stop himself, tugging Liam towards the old swingset on the edge of the property. “Pretty sure that was a one time deal.”

“Do they think they’re being discreet?” He asks, letting Zayn pull him along. 

“I think they do.” He says, feeling inexplicably fond. “Fucking idiots.”

“Zayn?” Liam asks just as the dark haired boy sits down on the plastic seat. 

“Yes Liam, dear?” Zayn asks, looking up at him with a smile on his face that doesn’t want to leave. 

“Do you think, that maybe, at some point, you would kiss me again?” It’s asked with a blush, hands shoved deep in pockets and really, Zayn is fairly powerless to resist Liam on good days.

“I mean, if you wanted.” Zayn says, looking up at Liam through his lashes, feeling stupidly happy about everything in the world. 

“Don’t make me take it back.” Liam says, a pout on his face, eyes sparkling.

“You wouldn’t.” Zayn replies.

“I would.” Liam says.

Zayn stands up, wrapping his arms around Liam’s shoulders. “Pretty sure you wouldn’t.”

Liam shakes his head, pressing his forehead to Zayn’s. “I wouldn’t.”

Zayn is fairly sure he’s the one who leans up and closes the gap, but it really might have been Liam, and then they’re kissing, soft lips and warm limbs and he can barely believe this is happening at all, can barely understand how he feels so happy he thinks he might burst. 

He thinks he was right about loving someone making you better, because kissing Liam is probably the best thing in the entire world. 

He thinks that maybe, standing in the cloudy moonlight in a body that’s completely his own, he could truly be good again. He thinks he might have been good all along, that maybe he just forgot.

He remembers now.

 

xx

 

Louis is first aware of the fact that he is woefully hungover. The next thing he becomes aware of is Harry nuzzling his face into Louis’ neck. “Louis wake up. Louis are you awake?”

“Fuck off.” Louis says, trying to burrow his way into the covers and against Harry’s chest. “Headache. Dying.”

“You’re not dying. You just did a stupid amount of shots.” Harry assures him, petting Louis’ hair in a way that shouldn’t feel so nice. 

“Exactly.” Louis mutters against Harry’s skin. “That’s why I’m dying. My whole body hurts.” He pauses. “Whose bed is this. How did I even end up in this bed.”

Harry laughs, the sound jostling Louis as he tries to complete his mission of never moving again. “It’s mine, we took a taxi home.”

“I’m in pain.” Louis complains.

“Do you want me to carry you down to breakfast?” Harry asks cheerfully, because Harry is apparently immune to hangovers and looking unattractive and Louis hates him a lot.

“No.” Louis replies, but doesn’t protest when Harry scoops him out of bed and carries him the through the door. Later, he will justify this by pretending that he couldn’t have convinced Harry to put him down even if he’d wanted to be. In the mean time, he just enjoys how warm Harry’s arms are. 

Harry’s kitchen is much quieter than his in the morning, the only person bustling around is Harry’s mother, a woman he recognizes from countless charity events. He manages a wave and what he can only assume is a winning smile, wondering why on Earth Harry would choose this particular moment for their official introduction. “He wouldn’t put me down,” He offers by way of explanation as Harry deposits him in a chair.

She laughs. “Nice to see you Louis, do you like scrambled eggs?”

“Of course.” Louis replies, laying his head down on the cool countertop and wallowing in his personal bubble of hungover self pity.

Harry reaches into the pocket of his sleep pants, pulling out two advil and setting them on the counter next to Louis, leaning to whisper in his ear. “Sorry, I needed food and I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

“You’re probably the worst boyfriend I’ve ever had.” Louis whispers back, taking the advil and dry swallowing them before he can to bother to try and remember where Harry keeps the cups.

“Only boyfriend.” Harry reminds him as he slides into the chair next to him.

Harry’s mother scrapes the scrambled eggs onto a plate next to a few still sizzling breakfast sausages, setting them on the island in front of them. “I actually need to head over to pilates in a few minutes, I hope you don’t mind me just leaving you here?”

“It’s fine, mom. Louis and I will take of the dishes.” He says, all smiles as he scoops up a forkful of scrambled eggs. 

“I’d love to get to know you more when I get back Louis, do you think you’ll still be here?” She asks, looking really far too chipper for whatever god awful time it is. Louis wonders how he ended up dating someone whose entire family was comprised of morning people. 

“He’s not allowed to leave.” Harry replies, and Louis kicks him under the table even though he really had no plans to go back home. 

She smiles, like Harry holding him hostage is amusing. “Alright, be sure to clean up after yourselves.” She says as she heads out, leaving them alone in the kitchen.

“I think she likes you.” Harry says when she’s gone, looking absolutely over the moon about the whole thing.

“What mother wouldn’t adore their son’s hungover boyfriend?” Louis replies, leaning up against Harry as he eats scrambled eggs with his hands. 

“You like that word, don’t you?” Harry says, poking him in the side, eliciting a displeased squeak from Louis.

“Don’t poke me. What word?”

Harry smiles, singsonging back to him. “Boyfriend. You like that I’m your boyfriend.”

“You’re a brat.” Louis responds, but he doesn’t take his head off Harry’s shoulder.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry asks, sounding tentative for once.

“Sure.” Louis replies, reaching for Harry’s hand. The kitchen is not as cold as it usually looks, food on the table, November sunlight streaming in through the windows. He thinks that part of that warmth might be Harry by his side. 

“Can we tell people?” He asks. “Like, I know it’s hard for you but I love you and I want everyone to know that.”

“You’re such a sap.” Louis replies instead of answering the question, trying to ignore the nervous twist in his stomach. “I want everyone to know too, I think.”

“Really?” Harry asks, and Louis thinks that it’s worth it just for how happy he sounds.

Louis nods, sitting up so he’s looking at him, bright green eyes that look so bright it makes his breath catch. “If anyone gives me shit, you can just punch them.”

Harry smiles, pressing a kiss to the tip of Louis nose. “If they have a problem with it, well then fuck them.”

Louis smiles, his heart feeling too big for his chest. “Fuck ‘em.”

 

xx

 

Harry picks Louis up on Monday morning, much to the tittering amusement of his mother, who he has to almost physically restrain to keep her from inviting Harry in for breakfast. 

The ride to school is short and cold, as Harry is the sort of stupid idiot who thinks that 40 degrees is a fine temperature to ride a motorcycle if you have the ‘proper clothing.’ Louis does not have the proper clothing, Louis is wearing Toms.

He pouts as Harry pulls his bookbag out. “I’m freezing. My hair looks terrible.”

Harry smiles up at him. “No it doesn’t, you’re lovely.”

“Well your hair looks terrible.” Louis says spitefully, even though artfully mussed is really more of an accurate description. 

Harry sticks out his bottom lip, leaning towards Louis. “Fix it?”

Louis sighs, running his hands through Harry’s fringe. “There, you look less silly now.”

“Good.” Harry smiles over at him, taking his hand. “I’m not letting go, okay?”

Louis fights down his inner panic, giving a tiny little nod. “Yeah, alright.”

They head up the sidewalk, Louis trying to ignore the way his chest feels all tight. At least his knows this feeling now, this nervous goodness as he clutches Harry’s fingers. He’s unsure, but he’s not terrified anymore, it’s hard to breathe but he’s not suffocating. 

“Remember, if anyone cares, fuck ‘em.” Harry says, his hand on the doorhandle.

Louis nods, squeezing Harry’s fingers with his own. “Love you.”

Harry nods, leaning down to press a kiss to Louis’ cheek. “I love you too.”

“I know.” Louis replies as Harry pulls open the door with his free hand and they head inside, still clasping hands so everyone in the world can see.

Harry’s fingers threaded through his, he remembers what freedom feels like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you aren't going to get a super long CMIF style author's note for this one, although this story ended up being almost as important to me as that one. This was just supposed to be a fun throwaway piece, but somehow I ended up feeling really close to the characters and it actually really helped me come to terms with my sexuality. Let's just say I drew a rather large amount of Louis' situation from my own personal experiences. But I mean it's not all bad, I did end up with my own Harry Styles, and she's possibly more lovely than the one in this story.
> 
> So I guess that's it everyone, I hope you enjoyed this story, and I look forward to writing more. I think my next project might actually be a real novel. Like, with characters that aren't from a boy band. But don't worry, I can't stay away forever. 
> 
>  
> 
> Much love,
> 
> Mattie. <3
> 
>  
> 
> ps- if you want to be updated when I do, i tag all my new stuff with mattiewrites. Also I'm making a playlist for this so idk i'll probably post that in a bit. (:

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it, I update every Friday. Every time u comment/leave kudos an angel gets its wings.


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